9906 Years, 100 Days
by A Beautiful Beast
Summary: You guessed it; another 100 one-shot challenge. Come help cheer me on, or at least read my latest submission. Anti-CosmoxAnti-Wanda-centred!
1. Trust

**Uh . . . hi. *Nervous laugh***

**Please don't kill me for not updating/posting something new! I'm sorry! Very, very, very,_ very_ sorry! And ashamed. Totally. Mhmm. Yep. Hehe. _Don't kill me!_**

**Okay, now that that's out of the way . . .**

**I've decided to begin one of those epic one-hundred one-shot challenges that not very many people finish. I sort of doubt I _will_ finish it, but there's no harm in trying, right?**

**I have 100 different prompts ****(all from one of my friends — THANKS CHERRY! :D) that I'll be using, in whatever order I decide. There aren't really any rules, just that it has to include both AC and AW, and have them interact in some way. ;)**

**Oh, and a super-humongous thank-you to:**

**BJXCBFOREVER - For the two reviews and favourites. **

**invadermay123 - For the favourite. **

**Fluff Monster - For the review. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except the whole 'Magical S****apphire' idea. XD**

_**LET THE CHALLENGE BEGIN!**_

* * *

1. Trust (Prompt 003)

It's times like these that he wonders why she trusts him so much. These times when she snuggles into him, emitting soft little sounds that make his heart — however dark — swell with affection. Why does she do it? She shouldn't trust him at all.

He's a lying, cheating scoundrel who will stab his own friends in the back just to prove them wrong. So why in the bloody blue blazes does she trust him to not do the same to her?

He tells himself that it is because she is naïve, an idiot and doesn't know any better, but deep down, in that little place everyone has whether they deny it or not, he knows why.

It's because she loves him.

As simplistic of an answer as it is, (and so very cliché) it is the truth. She trusts him because she loves him, and knows he loves her back.

Her soft, accented voice pulls him from his musings. "Night, Cozzie." She nuzzles her face into his chest, just brushing his ribcage, and he flinches, as he's always been ticklish there. She giggles slightly, — a decidedly scrumptious sound — but stops to alleviate his discomfort, however slight.

"Goodnight, love." He responds with a ghost of a smile, snaking one arm behind her back and the other resting behind her head.

Within seconds, — as she can fall asleep faster than anyone he's ever known — her breathing has slowed, and her chest rises and falls evenly.

For a moment, he just lays there, breathing in her sweet, warm scent. Then the curiosity comes racing back. With it, is another emotion. One he hasn't felt in a very, very long time. Dread.

What if he messes up, does something to make her distrust him? Would she hate him? Avoid him? Move out?

_No,_ he tells himself. _She'd have nowhere to move to. Except maybe Anti-Mama Cosma's. That annoying woman._

Besides, he would never do anything to betray her trust. It means more to him than just about anything.

Unless it was accidental

But that won't happen, because he's the smartest anti-fairy to ever be born, and he just doesn't make mistakes. Smart people never make mistakes. Especially not big, trust-breaking ones.

Do they?

_No, _he scolds himself._ You're smarter than that. You would never hurt her. _And he closes his eyes, slightly comforted by that knowledge. He drifts into sleep, (though feeling slightly unnerved) having the usual blissful nightmares about ruling Fairy World, and inheriting godchildren.

Of course, when you begin to doubt yourself, the doubts never really go away. They just stick in the back of your head, popping up when you need them least. This happens to Anti-Cosmo often after that night, and he tries to keep Anti-Wanda in arms reach at all times (or at least 78% of the time).

Whenever Timmy Turner decides to rear his egotistical head, he keeps her closer. Way closer. As in,_ I'm-pretending-you're-a-highly-radioactive-material-and-you-can-explode-at-any-second-if-I-turn-my-back-on-you_ closer.

Needless to say, she doesn't mind. She doesn't really understand it, but she doesn't mind. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Despite all of his genius efforts, the brat is able to ensnare his wife in a _really_ unfair trap. Really, how is he supposed to defend against fifteen butterfly net-wielding ninjas while still making sure his wife doesn't get caught? The ninjas aren't _that_ hard to beat, but when you factor in the fact that Anti-Wanda really isn't that much smarter than Cosmo, it just makes the whole issue a lot more . . . _oh, crumpets._

Timothy Turner holds up the butterfly net, grinning from ear to ear. Inside is a pouting Anti-Wanda. Anti-Cosmo grimaces reflexively, but then plasters a bored look on his face in an attempt to cover the fact that he just wants to _slap_ himself.

"All right, here's the deal," Timmy says arrogantly, hoisting the net up and swinging it over his shoulder. "I'll let Anti-Wanda go, but you gotta give me that Shalick — did I say that right? — Sapphire."

Anti-Cosmo rolls his eyes. "It's Shayliek, you imbecile."

"What-_ever_. So, where is it?"

The anti-fairy takes a moment to remove his monocle, and polish it. The blasted thing gets dirty so easily. He can feel his opposition staring, but he ignores them. "What do you need it for?" He asks after placing it back over his eye.

"Stuff."

He gives the boy an exasperated look, then turns to his godparents. "I'm seriously beginning to re-think this plan to receive control of the godchildren. Are they all as bad as he is?"

Wanda glares at her husband's double. "He isn't bad. And no, they're worse." When she receives a sceptical look, she adds: "I am _not_ biased, no matter what you might think. Remember that Cosmo and I have had hundreds of godchildren."

Anti-Cosmo nods once. "Mhm. So as I was saying, what if I don't _want_ to give you the sapphire? It does come in handy when one wishes to have a monsoon in the middle of a particularly nice-" he almost _spits_ the word "-day."

A grinning 14-year-old Timmy answers. "Then I hand her over to Jorgen."

Wanda is the only one who catches the flash of blind panic that streaks over Anti-Cosmo's eyes. It's slightly unnerving, as the pink-haired fairy has always thought the doppelganger to emotionless, or at least close to it. After a moment, she convinces herself that she's imagining things.

When he replies, it's with his teeth ground together. "Fine." He gives his wand a twirl, and a small blue stone appears in his hand. It begins to glow, illuminating Anti-Cosmo's face in what is possibly the creepiest way it can.

The annoyed leader flies up to the still-grinning boy, and snatches the butterfly net from him while depositing the sapphire in his empty hand. He poofs away without another word, but not before throwing the butterfly net in the air, allowing it to twirl a few times, and catching the anti-fairy that falls from it bridal-style.

_The next Friday the Thirteenth,_ he thinks, _Timothy Turner might just want to lock himself in a closet, because if he even dares to_ think_ about spilling some salt . . . _

The two anti-fairies arrive in the castle, and Anti-Cosmo has just put his wife down when she turns and envelops him in a lung-crushing hug. "I's sorry," she says, voice slightly muted by his shoulder, which she lays her head on. "I didn' mean ta get caught, an' I know ya'll really liked that sa-fire."

He smiles down at her. "It's perfectly alright, my dear."

It's moments like this that he has complete and utter confidence in himself. He knows he'll never hurt her, intentionally or otherwise. How? Because he can't. It is something akin to self-preservation, he supposes.

For once, the sciences of it all don't really matter to him. He has her, she has him, and they'll never be apart.

And that's more than good enough for him.

* * *

**Jeez, I wasn't really expecting to write so much! (It may only be 1207 words, but I wrote about 600 of them as I was 'editing' this.) I was planning on stopping before the whole Timmy scene, but it was just too short. *Shrugs* So I added on to it. **

**Oh, and I used the spellchecker they have on the document editor, and it said 'simplistic' is a complex word. Just found that funny.**

**Remember: 1 Review = 1 Update. 2 Reviews = FASTER UPDATE! 3 Reviews = I-will-jump-around-my-house-screaming-but-then-remember-to-update-immediatly-and-write-more. :D**

**Hmm, can't help but feel that I'm forgetting to tell you something . . . **

**Oh well.**

**Sayonara!**


	2. Storm

**Holy. Crap. ****I LOVE YOU GUYS! I got up this morning, checked my email, and there were — count it —_ SEVEN_ alerts for this one story. Oh how I love you guys. :D**

**Uber-thanks to:**

**BJXCBFOREVER: For the favourite and review.**

**Skeeter-Lockheart: For the follows and review.**

**Cupcake-Ninja-Platypus: For the favourite and review.**

**KEYBOARD SMASH OF EPIC LOVE nmjc,KJSKMJFCK,LASZASMJDduikfikiodcnmjiskod c laDUIKSKLUKCL,!**

**Okay, now I doubt telling you that I'm_ not_ really insane, just really happy, would keep you from thinking I'm insane, but y'know . . . I'm not. XD It just seems like it.**

**Just to explain the title a little, 9906 years is how long AC and AW have been married*. I'm showing you 100 different little snippets of their relationship; hence the 100 days.**

**OH! Almost forgot to mention, but there's a big reference in here to an amazing show. First one to notice it gets . . . oh, I don't know . . . maybe . . . to choose a prompt for me? (Include the prompt in your review, please.) Yeah, let's do that. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but a laptop and a dream.**

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2. Storm (Prompt 024)

Anti-Wanda is petrified of storms, and anything they involve. Anti-Cosmo learns this mere hours after they are legally married.

She's fluttering around the castle like a hummingbird, looking at this and that and _hey, I think I used to have one of these before!_ Anti-Cosmo isn't sure how to react, so he just murmurs agreement and prays she doesn't break anything.

This is one of those rare times that he's just sort of dumbfounded, for lack of a better word. There he was, drinking a hot cup of tea, scheming for the next Friday the 13th, seeing if there was a way to make it last longer, when _poof!_ A summons appears, telling him that Cosmo had gotten married, so in turn, Anti-Cosmo has to, too. Grudgingly, he had gone.

And now here he is, a newlywed, — he cringes at the term and what it implies — with his new wife flitting around his castle, admiring all of his little fixtures. His eyes flick to the window, and he notices a storm is brewing. _Finally, something to cheer me up,_ he thinks. Storms are his favourite, as they are for most anti-fairies.

Anti-Wanda finds his specially-made black porcelain tea cups, and picks one up.

"Careful," Anti-Cosmo can't help but warn as she examines the cup. She sets it down gently, as if it might detonate dare she press on it too hard. She turns around, maybe to ask him a question, maybe not, but is interrupted by a flash of lightning that is followed by a loud rumble of thunder. Startled, she jumps backwards into the table, (while letting out a small shriek) knocking his precious cups to the floor. Immediately, she crouches down to pick them up. She checks all of them for damage, but none of them are cracked. Well, none of the ones she's picked up.

Anti-Wanda reaches for the last cup, and checks it, feeling her stomach churn at the sight that awaits her eyes. There's a small piece missing from the top; a chip. She bites her lip.

"T-There's just a lil' thingy in t-this one . . ." She says nervously, hesitantly holding it out to Anti-Cosmo.

He shrugs it off. "It's just a chip." He says nonchalantly, accent more prominent than she remembers. He sets it back down on the tray with a gentle hand, chip facing outwards.

Anti-Wanda resumes her frolicking around the castle, but to Anti-Cosmo's confusion, she seems a little . . . unnerved. Well, she's been unnerved the whole time she's been here, but he assumes it is just because he is more than a little intimidating. Now, though, there's an odd caution to her movements.

Another flash of lightning illuminates the room for a moment, only to disappear as fast as it appeared. Anti-Wanda can't help but let out another shriek, and bite her lip.

"My dear, is there something wrong?" Anti-Cosmo asks, looking (and feeling) slightly worried. He starts- wait, _worried?_ Why is he worried for anyone but himself, nevermind someone he barely knows? He deftly shakes his head, and starts over to his wife.

A loud roar of thunder echos around the room, and Anti-Wanda flinches almost imperceptibly. _Almost._ Then she shakes her head. "Nu-uh. Nuttin'. Nuttin' at all."

He can't help but feel this . . . this need to comfort her, wrap his arms around her and ask her why she won't tell him what's wrong when he only wants to help. He doesn't, of course, but he can't help but want to. Why he wants to is a complete and utter mystery. For now.

So all he ends up doing is floating right in front of her, and slowly letting a breath of a sigh escape him. "Are you afraid of the storm?" He asks her, as gently as possible. Which, in his very humble opinion, isn't that gentle, but hey, he's trying at least.

"Yes." Her voice is small, fragile and unsure, like a human child's when they say that there are monsters under the bed (which in reality, are merely just harmless ghosts).

Again, lightning strikes outside, and Anti-Wanda jumps backwards, dangerously close to the fireplace, but is pulled back by a hand on her wrist. The hand pulls her to its owner, who wraps his arms around her in a rare moment of spontaneity.

To tell the truth, he's probably more surprised than she is.

For the first few moments she stands there, unable to process the events. Then she realises that the arms surrounding her are warm and inviting, and smell good and feel good and they make her feel _safe, _so she leans into them, seeking comfort. The arms seem unsure of themselves, but rub her back soothingly. The thunder makes her let out an involuntary whimper, and the arms hold her tighter. _You're okay,_ the words echo in her head, reverberating off of her skull.

"I'm okay," she whispers, because saying something out loud always helps her.

His lips quirk upwards in a small smile, and he nods. "You're okay," he says again.

He holds her for a few more minutes before he actually realises what he's doing. He, Anti-Cosmo, the most feared anti-fairy _ever,_ is comforting someone who he technically met only hours ago. Nevermind that this someone is his wife.

His reputation will be screwed (for lack of a better word) if someone finds out.

For some reason, that doesn't really matter to him right now. All that matters is the anti-fairy in his arms, who may or may not notice the tears streaming down her face and onto his jacket. He takes that anti-fairy upstairs, and into her room. He begins to gently set her down on the bed, and leave, because he feels more than a little awkward, but she calls to him.

"Stay?" It may only be one word, but his heart wrenches — _what an odd feeling, _he thinks — at the tone of her voice.

So though he pretends to be reluctant in going back to her side, he is actually glad he doesn't have to leave (but that's a fact that he shan't admit to anyone, not even himself).

He sits on the edge of the bed, gently weaving his fingers through the tangles of her hair. She lays there, curled into a tiny ball, letting out little whimpers whenever a streak of lightning slashes through the room or rumble of thunder deafens her.

Somehow, they fall asleep.

He wakes first, only to find that A, his back is_ very_ sore from leaning against the headboard of the bed, B, Anti-Wanda's head is settled on his lap, so he cannot get up without waking her, and C, the implications of their circumstances can be described in one word: mortifying.

He feigns sleep when she wakes up, and lets her get up first. He's just about to open his eyes to check if she's gone, when he feels lips ghost across his nose.

All he can do is hope that it's too dark for her to see his blush.

* * *

**1168 words. Ugh, have I ever told you how much I hate italics? **

**Now wasn't that adorable? In my (not-so-humble) opinion, it was XD. N****ot sure I'm completely satisfied with it, but oh well. You guys deserve another one. **

**So either go back to look for the reference, (or just to read it again) and then review, or review now. It's your choice! **

***In the episode 'Apartnership', Wanda and Cosmo (and AC and AW) have been married for 9895 years. That episode was released in 2001. 9895 + 11 = 9906. ****As a side note, I may or may not do AU's, or non-canon stuff. **

**I'm going to my cabin either today or tomorrow, and there's no internet there, so no updates. Sorry. I'll be back early Tuesday at the latest.**


	3. Lesson

**Yeah, sorry I didn't get this up earlier. I have no excuses, really, just laziness, the fact that while the soccer game may only be 75 minutes, the driving time is _also_ 75 minutes, and my laptop was dead. _Again._ **

**When I saw the word 'lesson' in the prompt list, I immediately thought of Anti-Cosmo tutoring Anti-Wanda. I mean, I know it was probably meant as a prompt to get me to write a 'life lesson' one-shot, but y'know, it's open to interpretation**

**This is an AU, in case you couldn't tell.**

**Thanks to BJXCBFOREVER, Cupcake-Ninja-Platypus, CherryCreamSauce, and an unnamed guest for reviewing! **

**Disclaimer: Consider this story disclaimed. Again.**

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3. Lesson (Prompt 082)

"Anti-Cosmo, if you participate in this program, it will give you that extra credit you need. In other words, you_ don't really have a choice_."

"But Madam Gilroy-"

"I'm sorry, Ace. I asked Madam Arian for other options, but there were none."

"I understand. I suppose this is what I get for wanting to secure a top position right out of Final Year."

"I'm glad you understand. Good luck, Acie."

"Thanks; I have a feeling I'll need it."

* * *

He sighed as he entered the study hall, annoyed that he hadn't seen this coming sooner. Of course he would have to make some sacrifices if he wanted to get anywhere _near_ the Head Office.

"Anti-Cosmo!" Anti-Luther called from a table halfway across the room. "Right on time, as usual." He said as the aspiring leader drew nearer.

The boy merely nodded. "I may be forced to come here virtually against my will, but punctuality is always important." He glanced around for a second, surveying the room. "Anyway, Madam Gilroy said you have a tutoring program I could participate in for extra credit."

The organiser shuffled through the miscellaneous papers on his desk. "Yeah, I've got the assignment right here." He pulled out a few pages, and stapled them together. "Here. You're supposed to tutor a girl named Anti-Wanda. She's a Final Year like us, but you'll have your hands full I'm sure."

Anti-Cosmo frowned. He recognised the name; he'd heard it before, but he couldn't find the face to match the name, and the papers were pictureless. "Which subject?" He asked, flipping one of the pages Anti-Luther gave him and finding nothing.

"All of them." He said, grimacing. "You poor guy."

Anti-Cosmo closed his eyes. _Lord save me . . ._ "I suppose I have my work cut out for me then."

His buddy placed a hand on his shoulder. "For the sake of your sanity, I suggest you take the extra year of schooling. Even if you do take it, you'll still be the youngest Anti to get into the Head Office."

A shake of the head is the reply he received. "There is _no way_ I'm spending another year of my life here."

"Then good luck, my friend." Anti-Luther patted his shoulder once, and then removed his hand.

"I just hope this is all worth it."

* * *

Anti-Wanda felt more than a little faint when she saw her new tutor walk into the room, sporting his usual blue blazer and black pants. The hat that always seemed to be falling off his head sat carefully atop his dark navy hair, and his monocle was polished so there wasn't a single speck of dust within ten feet of it.

He didn't look cute, no, _not at all_. He didn't look drool-worthy even without huge, rippling muscles. Nope._ Not one bit_. She _definitely_ wasn't wondering if he was single before telling herself that even if he was single he was completely out of her league. She only sat there and pretended that she wasn't completely and utterly intimidated by him.

"Hello, Anti-Wanda is it?" Oh, and for the record, she totally _didn't_ love the way her name rolled off his tongue.

"Y-Yeah. Hiya," she blinked once, smiling weakly up at him.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Anti-Cosmo cleared his throat. "So, where would you like to start?" She shrugged, communicating that it really didn't matter, so he sighed. "How about maths?" Another shrug.

"Okay," he said. "Let's start with an easy one. If x = (y*z)/a, what does y equal?" He waited, mentally crossing his fingers. _please say (x*a)/z, please say (x*a)/z . . ._

Anti-Wanda frowned. Math was never her strongest subject. Then again, her strongest subject had been Gym, which she only got a D+ on. Oh well, might as well take a guess at it. "Uh, four?"

Her tutor almost buried his head in his hands. This was going to be a long month.

* * *

Surprisingly, he hadn't given up on her yet, like so many of the others had. He _had_ looked like he wanted to bash his head against the wall a few times, but he hadn't left. Instead, he stayed and ran through the basics of what she would need to get through her Final Year somewhat patiently.

He had given her a crash course in all the subjects she had gotten less than 80% on, (which was all of them) and she ended up actually remembering some of the things he told her. If Anti-Cosmo had known her a little better, he probably would've started looking out the window for signs of an apocalypse

She wasn't looking at him dreamily when he asked if she was paying attention. No, she was merely wondering if he always looked that good- er, she was wondering if there was anything he _didn't_ know.

"Wha? Oh ya, I's listenan!" She gave him a grin, and he actually quirked his lips upward in a small smile.

He picked up the large history textbook he'd let her study from, and tucked it under his arm. "I should probably get going; it's getting to be quite dark outside."

"Okay."

"Do you want to do this again tomorrow?" Well, there was something she didn't expect, though she supposed she should've.

She slung her bag over her shoulder._ Are sandwiches my favourite snack?_ "Yeah!" She said, perhaps a bit _too_ enthusiastically.

"Alright. Would five be a good time for you?" He asked, and she nodded. "Then I suppose I'll see you tomorrow," he gave her a small, casual smile, and walked away, shoes tapping softly as he left.

* * *

As he drove out of the school parking lot, he noticed a figure walking down the sidewalk beside it. Who — or _what_ — would be walking out here at this hour? If it was the middle of the day, that would be different, but it was dark out and this . . . well, it wasn't exactly the best neighbourhood to be walking around alone in.

He squinted slightly, because though his monocle helped, it was no bionic eye. "Bloody Hell . . ." He sighed when he recognised the figure.

"Anti-Wanda!" He called without thinking, and she turned her head to look back at him. He pulled over beside her. "What are you doing?"

She wrinkled her brow in confusion. "I's walking home."

"At this time of night?"

"Yah . . ."

He sighed and opened the passenger door. "Come on, I'll drive you home."

"What?"

"You shouldn't be walking around at this time of night." _You shouldn't have to walk home at all,_ he added silently. He sighed again as he realised she probably failed her drivers test, too.

Meanwhile, Anti-Wanda was wondering why in the world he was offering to drive her home. She had walked this path a thousand time over and no one had ever asked her if she needed a ride. Shrugging her confusion away, she clambered into the car.

"Where do you live?" He asked, manoeuvring the car back onto the road.

"The street with the houses on it."

Anti-Cosmo groaned softly in exasperation, but couldn't help the small smile that crept onto his face. "No no, I mean your address, the name of the street you live on."

"Uh . . ."

"Nevermind."

* * *

It took a few minutes, but Anti-Cosmo, being a genius, was able to figure out a way to find her house (it mainly consisted of following the route Anti-Wanda walked home).

"So," Anti-Cosmo said as she started to leave. "Tomorrow at five?"

She grinned back. "Yep."

"I'll see you then, I suppose."

"Goodbye," they said at the same time.

_Wow, that was probably the most cliché thing that's ever happened to me,_ Anti-Cosmo thought.

Anti-Wanda blushed. "See ya." Then before she could embarrass herself further, she turned and walked up the drive, bag bumping against her hip.

At the door, she was greeted by an overly-excited Anti-Blonda. "Hiya sissy! Was that your _boyfriend?"_

Anti-Wanda blushed again, and scooped the six-year-old up. "Naw, he's jus' a friend."

Anti-Blonda shook her little head. "But he's a _boy,_ right? An' he's your friend, so he's your _boy_-friend!" She laughed a little, and then began to do what she did best: tease. "Anti-Wanda has a _booooyyyfrieennnd_!" Then she started to make highly disturbing kissy sounds, and Anti-Wanda laughed despite herself. "Didja _kiss_ him? _Didja?_ Hmm?"

The older of the two set her little sister down. "Tha's just silly. C'mon now, time fo' bed." She led the little girl by the hand into the bathroom, as the girl herself continued to ask questions like: "Are you two gonna get married? Can I be the flower girl?" and "Anti-Juandissimo's gonna be jeal-_ous_!"

Anti-Blonda may have been kidding, but after she had gone to bed, her sister went had to wonder if she was right.

* * *

**D'aww, Anti-Blonda is so cute. **

**1547 words, not bad for me. Yep, I may or may not venture back to this universe some time soon. **

**Updates may or may not be slow, depending on if I can finish what I've started or if I'll get stuck writing new things and not finishing them _again._**

**_THE CYCLE OF REVIEWING/UPDATING:_**

**You Review **→** I Am Happy **→** I Write **→** I Update **→** You Read **→** You're Happy**

**So, when you review, you're making yourself happy! So review! :D**


	4. Mistake

**Hey guys. A few things before we get to the story.**

**First: Updates will be slow from here on out because school's started and my teacher enjoys giving us homework.**

**Second: Found a FOP reference in _City of Bones. _I forget the page and the actual quote, (way to go, Beasty. Way. To. Go.) but it says something like 'magical goldfish in a fishbowl'. If that isn't a reference, well, I'm an idiot. XD**

**Third: RATING HAS GONE UP. It's now T, for language and general angst-_ness._**

**Lastly, Thanks to BJXCBFOREVER, Cupcake-Ninja-Platypus, CherryCreamSauce, and Gamer girl247 for reviewing. :D**

**Disclaimer: Didn't not own nothing then, don't not own nothing now.**

* * *

4. Mistake (Prompt 005)

"I'm _not_ jealous, I'm just annoyed!" Anti-Cosmo shouts for what feels like the millionth time.

"I can' help it if 'e gives meh stuff!" Anti-Wanda protests, pulling her lips into a pronounced frown.

"You don't have to accept the gifts, though! Throw them back in his face, remind him_ again_ that you are married!" He reminds her harshly, turning his back to her.

Earlier, Anti-Cosmo had gone out to get some extra paper, (it was always running out, probably because he was forever scribbling his plans down upon it) and left Anti-Wanda home alone — right after reminding her that _no,_ you are not allowed to touch the supply of poison, and_ yes,_ the pointy mace _is_ sharp!

The southern anti-fairy had been fluttering around the castle, trying futilely to find something to do, when another anti-fairy had shown up (either Anti-Cosmo had forgotten to poof-proof the place, or Anti-Wanda had accidentally undone the enchantment, most likely the latter).

"Anti-Wanda?" She whipped around, nearly knocking an antique vase to the ground.

She blinked a few times when she saw him, just to make sure he wasn't a mirage. _"Anti-Juandissimo?_ Whataya doin' here?" Asked a very confused Anti-Wanda.

Anti-Juandissimo — who was nowhere near as pleasing to the eyes as his counterpart, who was well-muscled and sexy where he was lanky and stick-thin — smiled a little at finally seeing his Dark Princess after so long. He then remembered _why_ he hadn't seen her in so long. "Yes, it's me. I- er, where's Anti-Cosmo?"

"He's gettin' sam more paper for his plans!" She grinned goofily back to him.

Anti-Juandissimo heaved a heavy sigh of relief. The last thing he needed was for the anti-fairies' leader to come and find him here. He unconsciously shivered, remembering the last time Anti-Cosmo had found him looking a little too closely at his wife. "So, uh, do you want to maybe . . . I dunno, maybe try to- uh, I mean," Anti-Juandissimo stuttered, unsure what he was asking. _"Doyouwanttogoonadatewithme?"_ He finally asked in a rush, biting down hard on his lip.

"A date? Like wit' date squares?" Anti-Wanda asked, still confused.

Anti-Juandissimo poofed up some date squares. "Uh, sure!" He picked one up, and scraped a small piece off. The he held it out to Anti-Wanda, except . . . he was trying to place it in her mouth. Shrugging, she took it in her teeth and began to nibble on it, grinning when it was gone.

Her ex-boyfriend smirked back, and gave her another piece. Then another, and another, and another . . .

Neither of them heard the other piece to their little love triangle appear, and he was most certainly not happy.

Anti-Juandissimo swore he could hear a soft 'tap, tap, tap,' like someone impatiently tapping their shoe on the floor, but quickly dismissed it as nothing.

Only when that tapping moved from the floor to his shoulder did he turn around. With a jump, of course. His eyes grew wider than what was probably healthy. _"A-Anti-Cos-Cosmo?"_ He smiled nervously. "Uh, h-hi!"

The other male merely stared back, and began to retrieve his wand from its place in his pocket.

"I was j-just leaving!" He whipped out his own wand, and disappeared with nothing but blue smoke and the word 'coward!' in his place.

Meanwhile, Anti-Wanda had no idea what had just transpired. She was just smiling at her husband in her usual clueless manner, like her ex-boyfriend showing up and feeding her date squares was perfectly normal.

Obviously, Anti-Cosmo had been furious, and then they gotten in a fight. Which leads us back to the present.

"You don't have to accept the gifts, though! Throw them back in his face, remind him _again_ that you are married!" Anti-Cosmo reminds her harshly, turning his back to her.

Anti-Wanda just floats in place, confused as usual. She doesn't understand why he's so upset; doesn't he like date squares? "Cozzie?" She asks uncertainly, feeling timid.

Her husband whips around, startling her. His usually grass-green eyes are turning darker, and threads of red are beginning to surface. "_Don't 'Cozzie' me!_ I know what you're up to! You're going on dates with that, _that . . . jerk_ behind my back!"

She blinks once, twice, three times; he's talking too quickly for her to understand. All she knows is that he's angry . . . at her. _Why?_ "Cozzie?" She asks again, softer.

He ignores her, instead continuing his rampage. "I _knew_ you were only married to me because of our counterparts! _Fine!_ You can be that way if that's what you want!" He poofs out of the room with a cloud of the darkest smoke she's ever seen.

Her lip begins to tremble. "C-Cozzie." She floats silently down the halls, which seem emptier for some reason.

She finds herself in the library, where he isn't. When she glances outside, she notices storm clouds brewing. She has to find him before they hit the castle.

Tears slip unnoticed down her face as she goes from room to room, searching. She's _certain_ she's covered every room at least twice when the lightning flashes through the house, thunder following almost immediately after. She shrieks and her movements become frantic and uncaring, ignoring what she knocks to the ground, her shrieks that are so loud she can't hear herself think, and instead thinking that she just _needs_ him. Of course, he's not coming to save her today.

He's poofed himself to the barrier that separates his world from his counterpart's. He just needs to _get away._ He knows it is too good to be true; who can love a monster like him? He chuckles slightly, not because it's funny, but because karma is not the only bitch around here. Fate is a cruel mistress not to be underestimated. Together, the two create a living Hell.

He's so preoccupied, he nearly misses the roar of thunder as it blasts past his ears. _Nearly._ He bolts up from his sitting position on the ground and whirls around. Sure enough, storm clouds are gathered over Anti-Fairy World. He'd unconsciously whipped out his wand before he noticed the clouds, and now twirls it to poof himself home.

Oh, he still remembers the image of Anti-Juandissimo feeding his beloved date squares. That's a memory that will stick in the back of his head for a long time. But he also remembers how he promised not to let anything hurt her. Especially memories best kept buried. So because while he may be proficient in finding and using loopholes, performing dirty, underhanded tricks and on occasion, betraying his allies, he is nothing if not an anti-fairy of his word. That is why he goes back.

Meanwhile, she's curled herself up in a corner, completely covered in blankets. Soft, warm, comforting blankets. She trembles uncontrollably, but tries to ignore it.

This time he is the one searching for his spouse, poofing into one room one moment and vanishing the next. He finally arrives in the kitchen, and can hear soft whimpers coming from behind him. He whips around to see half-lidded, shiny pink eyes.

The guilt literally takes the breath out of him, and he takes her into his arms and just _can't_ stop saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" because he _knows_ that this is all _his_ fault. Every little bit of it. He rocks her gently, tries to keep her tears away because each one is like acid to him, searing through his skin and leaving holes in his body.

Needless to say, he doesn't notice the tears on his own face.

She does, though. Through her blurry eyes, her forgiving, beautiful eyes, she notices. So when the storm ends, and she's okay, because nothing can hurt her now that _he_ is here, she lifts an uncertain hand to brush them away.

She wishes he would stop apologising.

He can't stop apologising.

He tells her didn't mean any of it, he's sorry, he loves her, (she's too good for him, he thinks. Too innocent, too forgiving for her own good) and that he won't blame her if she just walks out right now and never wants to see him again, but she smiles a heartbreakingly sad smile, and shushes him softly.

It doesn't work.

She tries something different, if only to stop the agonising apologies because no, it's not his fault, it's _hers!_

He wonders if her kiss is her way of saying good-bye, or just telling him that she forgives him. He desperately hopes for the latter, though he knows he doesn't deserve it. Like hell he doesn't.

She kisses him fiercely, reminding him that he is too hard on himself, because no one is perfect, and that's what she loves about him. Though he may be the resident genius of Anti-Fairy world and its leader, he still makes mistakes. Plenty of them.

Him asking her to marry him wasn't one of them, they both know. Her saying yes wasn't one of them, either.

It's a little known fact, but it's known by the two people who it really matters to.

Oh, and Cupid. But he knows everything about love. Except how to tell the fairy of his dreams how he feels, but that's a story for another day.

While he cradles her again, smiling softly through fangs that are both razor-sharp and sweet as sugar, she just curls her head into his chest and listens to his heartbeat. She may not know it, but he needs her just as much as she needs him; maybe even more.

* * *

**1678 words, I like it. Didn't really mean for it to get that angsty at the end, but when I try to add 'a little angst' to a story it always . . . well, it just isn't possible. Especially when I decide to listen to My Immortal on loop on my iPod while I write. *Sigh* **

**I think Anti-Wanda might have gotten a little OOC at the end there . . . not sure. I know AC's little temper tantrum was OOC though. **

**Oh well.**

**And if you even dare to mention that you might begin to ship ACAJ, I will personally cut off your- uh, just kidding. Hehe. ACAW FTW!**

**Please review, it makes me feel special. XD**


	5. Smile

**Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I keep getting these fantastic ideas, writing about half of them, and then not writing the rest because I just _can't. _I swear, I've written eleven different one-shots that I've only gotten halfway or more through, and then adding a sentence here and there. I just can't finish them. Bleh! If anyone has any ideas on how to get rid of this annoyingly specific writer's block, please share them.**

**Anyway, big thanks to everyone who has been so patient with me and especially BJXCBFOREVER, gamer girl247, and Cupcake-Ninja-Platypus for reviewing!**

**Disclaimer: Y'know, I doubt I really need this, seeing as this is posted on a fanfiction site, but oh well. _DISCLAIMED._**

* * *

5. Smile (Prompt 017)

Believe it or not, Anti-Cosmo had been nervous before. He was slightly nervous the first day of High School, (but only because he nearly forgot his wand, which was his only real means of defence. An effective one, at that) he was nervous when he was triple-dog-dared to kiss Anti-Luciana, (because her breath was notoriously smelly) and he was nervous when his mother said she had a 'surprise' for him (which was that she was kicking him out. No matter, he'd thought. He hadn't liked the pesky woman much anyway).

Though they were all pretty nerve-racking, none of those moments can even come close to a certain Friday the Thirteenth many, many years ago . . .

~_Le mini page break_~

He had been glad she wasn't a perceptive anti-fairy, or she probably would've asked him why he looked like he was going to barf all day. It certainly felt like he was going to.

He thought about putting it off until tomorrow, but then remembered that he had been putting it off for days. _You_ will_ do this today,_ he instructed himself.

So when he felt the undeniable pull of bad luck tug them, instead of poofing straight to the unlucky soul, he brought them to the spot where they both met: a gnarled, burned tree a little ways from Anti-Carl Poofy Pants High.

Anti-Wanda grinned and raised her black wand, ready to hex the living daylights out of the unfortunate soul who dared to spill the salt shaker, but there was a small problem. There was no spilled salt. There wasn't even an unfortunate soul.

Confused, she turned to her boyfriend, who just gave her an odd little smile. "Anti-Wanda, do you know where we are?" He asked, looking curiously at her. She couldn't put a finger on it, but there was something . . . off about his smile.

"Uh-huh," she said, nodding her head. "'Dis is where I first met 'cha!" She took a quick glance around, and a dopey smile unknowingly found its way onto her face. Then she frowned again as she remembered something; a very rare feat. "But why is we _here?_ I thought we's was gonna cause some more bad luck!"

Anti-Cosmo didn't reply immediately, instead taking her by the hand and leading her underneath the tree. "I want to ask you something." It took almost all of his concentration to keep his voice steady, but he did it. For now.

Anti-Wanda tipped her head to the side.

"From the day I first met you, I knew you were special," he began, taking a deep breath in. "Perhaps a tad annoying, sure, but you were special. It's like you had this little light inside of you, that apparently only I could see. And like a moth to a flame, I was attracted to that light." He paused, allowing her time to try to comprehend his words. "You know, before I met you, I was completely content with living in solitude, with only my plans for company. But then I did meet you, and everything changed. For the first time in my life, I _wanted_ to be around someone." _And I hope you feel the same way,_ he added silently.

She continued to stare at him, curiosity alight in her pink eyes. "My dear, you are an exception to a rule I've always though ridiculous: opposites attract. But still, you are the only one I would ever even_ consider _asking this." Suddenly, he wasn't nervous anymore. It was like a sudden calm had settled over him, and he had complete confidence that everything would be perfect. "So I ask you," he began to kneel on his left knee, and pulled out a tiny black box. As he opened the lid to her, he hoped for the best.

"Anti-Wanda Venus Fairywinkle, will you marry me?"

For a moment she didn't respond, and the nervousness came racing back. He couldn't read her face. What if she said no? He should've just waited, he knew he should've waited! Thoughts raced through his head at lightning speed, and his heart rate picked up. He shouldn't have been nervous, though.

Because then she smiled the biggest, widest, prettiest smile he'd seen in his entire life and tackled him to the ground with a lung-crushing hug and began kissing him feverishly.

Luckily, he had shut the box when he noticed her diving toward him, so the ring was alright.

The same could not be said for the condition of his hair, as it was now covered in mud and grass and it looked more like a cat's hairball than actual hair, but he didn't mind.

After he had recovered, he smiled up to the anti-fairy with her arms wrapped around him. "I'll take that as a yes, I suppose." He whispered in her ear, the hair tickling his lips.

Her eyes flicked open, and she shifted so her legs were straddled on either side of him. "Good, 'cause I say yes!" She leaned over to give him a small peck on the lips. Before she could recede too far though, Anti-Cosmo pulled her back down for another, longer kiss.

Being the sneaky devil he was, he flipped her over as they were kissing, so she was the one lying on the ground.

So when Anti-Wanda tried to 'raise' her head after their lips had parted, she ended up knocking it against the ground. Confused, she glanced from side to side and after a moment, realised what had happened. In annoyance, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Yur mean," she said childishly, looking up at her grinning fiancé.

"But you love me for it, do you not?" Anti-Cosmo helped her to her feet. She glared at him for a second, but then relaxed and nodded reluctantly.

"Ya still mean."

He scooped her up bridal-style, as she let out a small squeal of protest.

"And you're still beautiful." _Is it merely me, or do I excel at making her blush?_ Anti-Cosmo couldn't resist thinking to himself as his new fiancée's cheeks turned a few shades darker.

She squirmed in his arms, and he reluctantly let her down. She joined hands with him, and it was that action that reminded Anti-Cosmo of something.

"Wait," he said, removing the ring from its case. He knelt down once again, and gently slipped it over the appropriate finger, laying a soft kiss atop the hand before rising again. "Perfect. You're perfect," he smiled again at her as they joined hands.

He turned to glance at her once more. "Ready to go, dearest? The bad luck shan't create itself you know."

"Uh-huh!" She said with a toothy grin.

Hand-in-hand, they poofed away, ready for whatever life decided to throw at them.

* * *

**As my little cousin would say: "And dey wived happily eva afta!" (****1180 words, if you're wondering.)**

**When (notice how I said_ when_ and not _if._) you review, tell me when you realised he was proposing. I tried to give little hints, (and clichés XD) but I want to know if they worked. **

**Reviews are my drug. I know I don't really deserve them, but hey, I sure appreciate them! **

**Also, I apologise in advance for however long it takes me to post the next chapter. School's a female dog. Oh, and just to let you know, the prize for figuring out the reference in chapter 2 is still up for grabs. ;)**


	6. Torture

**Wow, has it really been a week? Time passes so quickly . . .**

**Too lazy to remember if I had anything to tell you besides that I sort of liked the way this came out. Don't know. **

**Thanks to gamer girl247, Cupcake-Ninja-Platypus, BJXCBFOREVER, and CherryCreamSauce for the reviews :)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own, of course. If you wanted to get me an early birthday present, however, I certainly wouldn't object. *Hint, hint***

* * *

6. Torture (035)

"Not going to talk, hm?" Their kidnapper asks, a tinge of sadistic joy wrapped into his voice. When neither answers, he calls: "Oh, boys!" Anti-Cosmo can hear a door open, footsteps, a door closing, and then . . . _silence._ The covers are removed from his and Anti-Wanda's heads, and he glances around quickly. He cannot see his wand, but can feel its presence coming from somewhere near the drawer to his right. He can also feel Anti-Wanda's eyes on him, and he turns his head to her and gives her what he hopes is a reassuring look.

"What is it you want from us, particularly?" He asks, feeling bold enough to let himself sound annoyed instead of frightened (which he would never admit to, not even to himself. Anti-Cosmo Cosma is scared of nothing).

The men laugh a little, and the lead one replies nonchalantly. "Just the combination to your safe," he smirks.

Anti-Cosmo raises a brow. "Which one? I have more than one safe, you know."

"Which one, he says. The one containing your money of course!" He says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Which to him, it might be. _What an idiot; doesn't he know there are better things in my castle besides money?_

The leader of the anti-fairies narrows his eyes. "And why in the blazes would I tell you the combination?" He asks, mildly confused.

It doesn't make sense; the way the corner of the kidnapper's mouth twitches upwards, his high-pitched whistle, the way he looks at Anti-Cosmo as if he knows exactly how to break him.

None of it makes sense until he sees the bathtub.

His eyes widen instantly, then flick to Anti-Wanda who is oblivious to the implications a bathtub brings and back to the ringleader of the kidnappers.

"It is going to take a little more than some water to get me to tell you the combination," he lies smoothly, through his teeth as only he can do. Only Anti-Wanda will be able to pick up the slight tremor in his voice.

"In that case, we'll start with you anyway," comes the annoyed reply. The two men who brought the bathtub walk over to Anti-Wanda, and, ignoring her small whimper of protest, pick her up by the arms.

They lead her over to the bathtub, and a half worried, half confused Anti-Cosmo asks: "I do believe you said that you were starting with me?"

The man smiles, revealing crooked yellow teeth, and walks to stand right in front of Anti-Cosmo. _"We are."_

He barely gets a moment to think before Anti-Wanda is shoved under, letting a loud shriek escape her lips.

"Anti-Wanda! Stop!_ Let her go!"_ Anti-Cosmo yells, attempting to slide his hands free from their bonds.

The kidnappers' leader keeps his back turned to Anti-Wanda, and continues to talk in such a way that one might think he was speaking about a particularly nice piece of lamb he had for dinner that night before: "You see, dear Anti-Cosmo, everyone's weaknesses are with the ones they love. So we take that, and . . . well, see how long they last when someone they care about is shoved underwater repeatedly and without mercy."

"You'll drown her!" Anti-Cosmo continues to yell, ignoring the leader.

"Do you want us to stop?" The man asks softly, though there is nothing gentle about his voice.

Fleetingly, Anti-Cosmo thinks about being sarcastic. "Yes!"

"Then tell us the combination." He says, nonchalantly pulling a cigarette from his pocket.

Anti-Cosmo's voice is dangerously low when he replies. "Take her out. _Now."_ He growls, feeling tense.

"Tell us the combination."

It's been close to a minute, and Anti-Cosmo knows that Anti-Wanda's struggles are getting weaker by the second. "Take her out, and I'll tell you the combination."

The man frowns for a second, (which feels like an eternity to Anti-Cosmo) but then snaps his fingers twice, and Anti-Wanda is lifted from the tub, gasping. The men set her back on the floor, behind the bathtub.

"What's the combo?" He asks gruffly, staring daggers at the anti-fairies' leader.

Anti-Cosmo hesitates for a moment, and thinks about giving false numbers. "Twenty-four," he finally splutters out. "Twenty-four, eighty-two, five. That's the combination."

The three kidnappers glance at each other, and shrug. "That's good enough for me. C'mon boys, we got ourselves a safe to break open!" Then, because they aren't very smart, they poof from the room, and leave Anti-Cosmo and Anti-Wanda alone.

"Anti-Wanda?" He calls softly to the quiet whimpers coming from behind the bathtub. He begins to sort of crawl his way over to her, worried about what he might find.

When he gets to the bathtub, he crawls his way over to his wife, who is curled into a tiny ball, trembling.

Anti-Cosmo's heart clenches at the sight, and he places a hand on her back. She flinches, and he feels bad, but then he scoops her up because he just can't stand to watch her lay on the cold floor, and it's just not fair that she had to suffer for him when it should be the other way around because he's always been the stronger one, and he just _can't_ take the look on her face because it makes him feel so very guilty that _she's getting hurt because of him._

She curls into his chest, and clings to his jacket. He places a hand behind her head, and begins to rub her soaked hair soothingly. "Shhhh," he whispers, slowly untangling the blue strands. "You're alright. I'm here now; you're alright."

After a few minutes, she loosens her vice-like grip on his jacket, and looks up at him with shiny eyes. "Ya shouldn'ta told 'im the combin- combin- thing." She mumbles, setting her head back on his chest.

"I wasn't going to let them hurt you, if that's what you're suggesting." He argues gently.

"Ya still shouldn'ta done it!" She says, and he grabs her face in his hands and tilts her chin up with a finger.

"Listen to me, Anti-Wanda. I don't care that they have the code to my safe, no matter how much money may be inside. You are much more important than money. Or world domination, for that matter. Money I can make back, or if it comes to it I'm sure I can find more . . . _creative_ ways to earn. You, however, are priceless_ and_ irreplaceable." He lets his lips pass over hers for a moment, inhaling her comforting scent.

He stands, holding her bridal-style, and walks over to the drawer containing his wand. He tugs on it once. _Locked. Damn it._

At that very moment, the three stooges (as Anti-Cosmo has decided to name them) poof back into the room, each sporting an angry scowl.

"You gave us the wrong combo!" The leader yells, annoyed. "And how did you get out of your restraints?"

Anti-Cosmo smirks despite the fact that he doesn't have anything to defend him or his wife if the kidnappers attack. "You really need to work on your knot-tying skills." He gently sets Anti-Wanda down, and holds her in place behind him.

For a moment, both parties stare at each other, each expecting the other to make the first move. Then the kidnappers' leader glances behind him. "What are you waiting for? Go get them!"

The kidnappers may have numbers, but they aren't fuelled by anything near as powerful as the anger Anti-Cosmo is. He tries to deal with them in the most non-lethal way he can for Anti-Wanda's sake, (because if her eyes weren't watching he wouldn't hesitate to tear them limb from limb; very, _very_ slowly) but he cannot help himself from inflicting pain, and lots of it.

When the two thugs lay on the ground, unconscious, only then does their leader realise the deep hole he's dug for himself. He smiles nervously at the furious male across from him, and begins to quietly search for some way to get out of there. Unfortunately for him, his wand isn't anywhere near him. "So, uh, how're your plans for the next Friday the 13th coming along? Heh, uh," he slowly begins to back away.

Anti-Cosmo whips out his wand, and immediately turns him into a cockroach. One he enjoys grinding into the cold stone floor, hearing the satisfying crackles of its shell breaking.

Suddenly, just as he's about to turn back to Anti-Wanda and poof the two of them home, the ground begins to shake beneath him. "What the devil?" He whips around.

He's turned in time to see the earth spilt open, separating him and his wife from each other. He calls to her, but his voice is lost among the raging rumbles of the earth.

He cannot fathom why this sudden earthquake has happened, nevermind process the fact that the ground has spilt again, this time beneath Anti-Wanda's feet.

He is powerless to do anything but watch as she loses her footing and tumbles into the black abyss below.

* * *

He jolts upright in bed, panting, brow slick with sweat. It takes a moment, but he realises that it was all a dream. A terrible, horrifying nightmare. He glances to his left just to check: yes, she's still there. Still asleep, completely unaware of her spouse's distress.

After a minute or two, his breath is finally steady. He lays back down and attempts sleep, but something isn't right. He turns over. No, still not right. Maybe he if lies on his back? Hm, no. _What if . . .?_

He carefully wraps his arms around Anti-Wanda's torso, rests his head on her shoulder, and immediately feels comforted. Yes, this is much, much better.

He closes his eyes once more, and sleep finally surrounds him, sending him peaceful dreams of ruling more than just the anti-fairies and their world.

In every dream, she never leaves his side for more than a minute.

* * *

**(1704 words) Don't even ask where this came from. **

**Okay, so there were a few hints that something wasn't quite right in there (besides AC and AW getting captured, because I'm sure that mastermind has more than a few booby-traps set up ;) )**

**1. Hand bonds came off inexplicably.**

**2. Said he was a man but he has a wand (okay, that was kind of a cheap shot, I admit).**

**3. Wand was in a _locked_ drawer.**

**4. Anti-Wanda has wings, she could've floated above the crack.**

**Yep, lazy today, so I'll just ask kindly for reviews because I love them. Y'know. Make my day and all that stuff.**


	7. Red

**Ick, when I was just finishing up my editing on this, my 'script' randomly expired, and I had to refresh the page. I wasn't worried, because I had saved it about a million times. Anyone wish to hazard a guess as to what happened when the page re-loaded? *Sigh***

**Okay, I'll be the first to admit that I'm a terrible, terrible updater. For that I apologise (writing Anti-Cosmo is starting to get to me. I've started to call all of my friends by their full names instead of the shortened versions. Oh, the sacrifices I make for you guys).**

**OH! Before I forget to tell you _again,_ know that some of these one-shots/prompts will contradict each other. For example, if I say that Foop's eyes are purple because of some terrible radioactive explosion in one 'shot, and in another I declare that they're purple because when you mix pink and green together it creates purple (which it probably doesn't; I don't feel like Google-ing it to find out) please just go along with it. I'm writing this for fun, not to pick holes in myself.**

**One last side note: I was experimenting with changing my writing style, (not permanently, please keep breathing) and this is what came out. Little more storyteller commentary than usual, but I sort of like it. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own, don't profit. Blah blah blah.**

* * *

7. Red (Prompt 041)

Before Anti-Wanda, Anti-Cosmo, and Foop, all anti-fairies were born with red eyes. Why? Well, everyone assumed it was because they were evil. You know, because red eyes make you look evil? Then Anti-Wanda was born, with her bright _pink_ eyes, and everything changed.

There obviously had to be something wrong with her, some flaw in her genetics. She wasn't normal.

A mere two years later, another anti-fairy was born, the last anti-fairy to be born for millennia. He wasn't normal either; he had green eyes. _Green!_ At least pink was sort of close to red. Mix a little white in with the red and it turns to pink, right? But green? Green wasn't even near red, in fact, it's pretty much the opposite!

The two young anti-fairies were shunned, by both their parents and peers. One of the two didn't understand why, the other honestly couldn't care less. The latter built for himself, studied and mastered charms a toddler shouldn't even know exist. On his first day of kindergarten, he smirked at the other children who were learning to anti-poof up black cats, the same children who teased and taunted him during preschool. With a quick twirl of his adult-sized wand, he froze the entire class, including the teacher. He then proceeded to steal their lunches, as his mother had 'forgotten' to pack him one.

On the other side of the spectrum, the female of the two hadn't done anything about her isolation. She simply accepted it, for what_ could_ she do? She wasn't talented, smart, or pretty. She was weird and different, the odd one out. Imagine her surprise when another anti-fairy transferred to her school many years later, sporting green eyes and a monocle. _Green eyes and a monocle!_ It just didn't make any sense to her.

She avoided him for the most part, not wanting to take the chance and be rejected yet again, this time by the only other anti-fairy like her. She remained in the shadows, observing him from afar.

Well, until that faithful day when she wasn't paying attention to where she was going. Silly her.

He was floating casually down the halls, book tucked under his arm. It was his free period, so he was going to spend it reading, as usual.

She, on the other hand, was late. Very late. It happened when the bullies shoved you into your locked and you couldn't get out. At least she had her wand . . .

So she flew down hallways and through corridors like a bullet, forgetting that she could just anti-poof into the class.

Needless to say, their paths crossed literally, and at the same time, causing a collision.

As she scrambled to pick up her binders, books, and miscellaneous pens that had fallen, he gave a glare. "Watch where you're going! You cannot just speed down the halls like a rogue dragon! Do you know who I-" He silenced himself as she looked up at him, revealing her eyes. He crinkled his brow. "So they were right; I'm not the only one." He murmured, and annoyance gave way to a sort of grudging respect.

She was silent, just staring up at him.

_Pink eyes . . . hm. They are so different. And yet, I think I like them. Wait, I feel like I'm forgetting something . . . oh, yes._ "Where are my manners? I'm Anti-Cosmo. Pleasure to meet you, Anti-Wanda I presume?" He offered a hand to her, and she took it, rising, while allowing him to twirl his wand and her books appeared in her hands.

She nodded. "N-Nice ta meet 'cha too . . ." _Don't hate me, don't hate me, don't hate me._

One side of his mouth curled upwards, and he raised the opposite side's eyebrow. A few seconds of totally not being judgemental later, he shook his head softly. Something about this girl just screamed insecure.

He should really do something about that.

Wait, _what?_ Why did he care? Hm. Probably because her eyes were different, like his. Naturally, he had read up a little on the subject of eye pigments, and her name had appeared every so often (as had his). Every time though, she would be associated in a negative way. It was something that, as part of the minority, irked him. He shrugged it away.

Meanwhile, Anti-Wanda was thinking too. Just a heckuva lot slower. What was she thinking about? Well, it most certainly wasn't the colour of her eyes.

_Bacon or ham? Maybe baloney? Or bologna? Why'sit always so hard to choose a meet for my Sam-witch?_

What? I didn't say her thoughts were as deep as Anti-Cosmo's!

They both stood — or floated, rather — in silence, wrapped up in their own thoughts. Until he snapped out of his, anyway.

"I'm sorry, am I distracting you? You probably have to get to class." She nodded, not really wanting to leave. She liked this anti-fairy — not like that! He was just nice to her, was all.

"I'll see you around, perhaps?"

Was that hopefulness in his tone? No, she was just hearing him wrong. Still, she smiled. "Shore!" Her eyes flicked to a nearby clock. Thank goodness it was digital. Unfortunately, it said she was twelve minutes late. "Uh-oh . . . gotta go! Bye Anti-Cosmo!" She sped off once again, leaving the future leader to stare after her.

He shook his head slightly, amused, with a fanged smile on his face. What a character.

She was certainly someone to keep an eye on, at the very least.

* * *

**That was . . . short (941 words).**

***Sigh* I feel old. Really, really old. I know, I'm not even an adult yet. But still, with fifteen days of (technical) childhood left, I can't help but feel nostalgic. Teenagehood seems so . . . uh, I don't know. Old. I just want to be forever young. Ah well, at least I won't have to worry about being booted off of this site because I'm 'too young'. I'll stop my annoying (nonsensical, boring, off-topic) rambling here.**

**Remember, to err is human, to review divine. ^_^**


	8. Goodnight

**What's this? A quick update? Wow. Remember this moment, 'cause it'll never happen again ;)**

**I have nothing to say about this, to be honest. Just that it's really angsty and I like the way it turned out.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the _Fairly Odd Parents,_ although if I did the series would revolve around the anti-fairies and their awesome leader.**

* * *

8. Goodnight (Prompt 049)

When she saw him laying there, unmoving, she knew what had happened. She knew that his dark, misunderstood heart wasn't going to beat ever again, that she wasn't going to hear the British accent she so adored one more time, she wasn't going to see his eyes glow in that irresistibly mischievous way when he smiled.

Instead of accepting it though, she did something she knew she was good at: playing dumb. "A-Anti-Cozzie?" She couldn't keep the tremble from entering her voice. She floated to him and knelt down, ignoring the single tear that slipped from her eye, down to her cheek, and finally fell somewhere on his jacket. The jacket that had a solitary hole in it.

"Cozzie," she whispered, voice low and broken. "Wake up." It was futile, but she had to try, didn't she? "Wake. _Up_." She said, a little more forcefully.

Someone watched her; the only other living thing around. The figure couldn't help but feel a stab of pity. They'd never really liked Anti-Cosmo or his wife, but the two had obviously cared for each other. Which just made their job that much harder.

The figure headed over to Anti-Wanda with a heavy heart. "Anti-Wanda?" They asked uncertainly, not wanting to disrupt the anti-fairy.

"What?" He voice was sharp, like the bite of frost you feel that warns you to heard inside before you get hypothermia. Except it wasn't completely cold; the other being heard a note of heavy grief hidden inside the one word.

The figure silently handed Anti-Wanda a letter. It had been cased in a midnight-black envelope, one that only Anti-Cosmo had used. The female anti-fairy bit her lip. "He wanted you to have this." The figure said almost remorsefully.

"Thank you." Anti-Wanda managed after a few moments of awkward silence.

The figure left, or so Anti-Wanda thought. Curiosity had gotten the better of this letter deliverer, so they had camped behind a cluster of burnt bushes to watch. It was interesting, in a sick, twisted way, they knew, but that was what made it so irresistible.

Anti-Wanda's tears began to flow, cascading down her navy cheeks and falling to their final destination: Anti-Cosmo's jacket. With trembling hands she hesitantly pried open the envelope. It felt, smelled, even seemed like it was death itself. When the widow had plucked the letter from its tomb, she carefully unfolded it and began to read. It was one of the many things that Anti-Cosmo had taught her, and unlike learning to dust without breaking anything, (because it was just much easier to do it by wand) it had come in handy. It certainly did now.

_My Dearest Anti-Wanda,_

_If you are reading this, then I apologise. It means that not only have I failed yet again in my attempts to rule the Earth and our fairy counterparts, but I am also most likely dead as well._

The word 'dead' made Anti-Wanda bite her lip forcefully. Who knew a simple little word could make someone so sad?

_I'm so very sorry that I forgot to say goodbye to you, my dear. I was already past the barrier when I'd remembered, so alas, I could not return. I wish I had said goodbye to you though, or at least remembered to leave a note of some sort. Please forgive me for this also._

_My darling, I must apologise again for leaving you alone in the dark world we call our home. It was never my intention. You are the only reason I even come back some days; do you know this? I hope you do._

_Please remember that I love you, and always will. As you would say, you are the bread to my sandwich, the anchovy to my BAT. You are the most beautiful thing to ever grace the universe, with your rose-coloured eyes and sweet smile._

_Finally, If you can choose to forgive me for something, please forgive me for not reminding you how important you are to me more frequently. Whilst I may be graced with an extraordinarily great I.Q., I find that occasionally some things may be forgotten. Again I must apologise; if anything should not be forgotten, it is you._

_It will _always_ be you._

_Eternally Yours,_

_Anti-Cosmo_

Because her hands shook so violently, she could barely make out the final words. Or was it because of her tears smudging the night-black ink she used to ask him to use because it just seemed so much more . . . him? Anti-Wanda didn't care. It didn't matter, not anymore. Nothing mattered now that he was gone.

Eventually, the tears stopped, and her breathing returned to normal. The growing ache in her chest didn't ease in the slightest, however.

Carefully, she took two of her fingers to his eyelids, and gently closed his eyes for what would be the final time. Then she bent over and placed a soft kiss on his nose, ignoring the deathly cold that invaded her lips and focusing instead on keeping her breathing steady.

"Goodnight," she whispered into the silence. The word echoed about, piercing her ears with its reverberations.

The silence seemed to whisper back; a foreign thought appearing in her head. _Goodnight, love. I'll miss you._ The words were hazy, missing pieces and syllables, but Anti-Wanda heard them more clearly than anything she'd ever heard before. How could she not, what with him being the only one to ever understand her? Of course it would go both ways.

Her lip trembled again, but she could not allow the tears their rite of passage. They'd had enough leeway, she decided.

The figure watching from the bushes may not have been able to read her thoughts or the letter they had delivered, but they knew that neither of those things were cheerful.

Suddenly, the figure spotted movement to their right. _Anti-Juandissimo_, they thought instantly. Their eyes flicked back to Anti-Wanda, who hadn't noticed the newcomer.

"A-Anti-Wanda?" He called hesitantly.

Her head flicked up instantly, a flash of surprise in her eyes that melted into a weary acceptance. "Oh, it's jus' you."

Silently, he came to rest beside her, and crouched down. They sat together like that for minutes, each thinking their own thoughts.

Anti-Juandissimo broke the silence. "I . . . well, you know I never liked him. Doesn't m-mean I wanted him . . ." he grimaced. It was true, what he said. He hated the anti-fairy who had 'stolen' Anti-Wanda's heart from him. _"Dead,"_ the whisper came from nowhere. And he couldn't take it back.

She finally caved, leaning heavily against her ex-boyfriend. The tears fell, and she just couldn't look anymore. So she buried her face in the nearest jacket, and tried to pretend that it was his. This jacket didn't smell right, though. Nor did it have that certain softness that only his jackets seemed to have.

The jacket's owner bit his lip and uncertainly wrapped his arms around the quivering figure clinging to him. He enjoyed the attention, but . . . he thought it would bring more of a sense of accomplishment, instead of a tight pain in his chest.

This world — and the next — were so utterly _fucked up._

So right then, right there, as he cradled the woman he would give anything for, he resolved never to try to win her back.

Because he wasn't that low; low enough to steal from a dead man.

The figure in the bushes had enough. They disappeared, reappearing back in their master's office.

"It is done?" The voice drifted out of the shadows, without a body to accompany it. The other figure only nodded, inwardly seething.

The figure could hear a smile in the voice of the speaker. "Thank you." They grimaced, but nodded.

"It had to be done," they said, repeating words that had been told to them time and time again.

"Good."

Anti-Wanda hurt everywhere. Legs, arms, wings, head . . . heart. Mainly heart. The hurt just wouldn't leave. Every time her heart beat, the pain would rebound along with it, each time sharper than the last.

She didn't understand why, why _him?_ He hadn't done anything wrong. He was just doing his job — that was it. No one liked bad luck. But that still wasn't fair! If she followed that logic, then their only crime was . . . it was being born. Her lip trembled again. Maybe they were all mistakes. Little accidents no one wanted around.

Anti-Wanda tried not to give a damn.

Instead, she released her death grip on Anti-Juandissimo's jacket, stood, and vanished, leaving nothing but a dark cloud of smoke in her place.

Not a soul spoke to her for days.

It suited her just fine. Quite frankly, she didn't want to talk to anyone. After all, silence was golden.

* * *

**Mmm, yes. 1520 words of dark, depressing angst. Yummy. I think I write angst better than fluff. It certainly is _eaisier_ to write.**

**No idea where this came from. Just sayin'.**

**Go ahead and decide for yourself who the mysterious figure(s) is/are. I know who I want it to be, but I've left it open to interpretation. It could be any fairy, really. Maybe even Timmy, after stealing a wand to poof with. Oooh, what if it was Norm? Or Jorgen? Or . . ._ Cupid?_ I'd better stop before I start wondering if it could be Timmy's Mom. Hey, maybe it's Vicky! Or Trixie! Or TOOTIE? **

**How about a review for a decently quick update?**


	9. Cough

**Stupid writer's block.**

**Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Fairly Odd Parents, or any of the fantastic characters.**

* * *

9. Cough (Prompt 054)

"I am_ not_ thick! I jus' have a 'ittle cough 'sall" Anti-Cosmo sniffles, crossing his arms and frowning slightly at his wife, who is trying to get him to stay in bed and eat soup. Chicken noodle soup, of all soups. Ee_yuck_! He isn't sick!

"Yes you is! Now stop bein' such a baby an' eat yur soup!" Anti-Wanda says harshly, thrusting the bowl in front of him again.

Anti-Cosmo huffs, and poofs the soup to the nightstand. "I am not!"

"Is so!"

"Am not!"

"Is so!"

"Am not!"

"Is so!"

"Ith too!"

"No you ain't!"

Anti-Cosmo smiles a little, just to himself. "You're right. I'm not thick." he coughs once, but quickly recovers and strains to hold a coughing fit back.

His wife furrows her brow for a moment. "But . . ." She is silent, lost in thought. It is unfamiliar territory, after all. "Hey! You's trying ta trick meh again"

He plasters a mock-innocent look on his face. "Me? I 'ould nevah."

Anti-Wanda snatches the soup from the nightstand and glares threateningly at him. "I ain't gonna leave 'til you eat this."

"Alright," he smiles, and takes the soup from her, once again placing it back on the nightstand. Before she can move, he leans forward and pulls her into his lap. "Be prepared tah wait."

"Hey!" She yells, squirming. "Ya gonna get me sick too!" She may not be the biggest black cat of them all, but she knows that colds are contagious.

Unfortunately for her, he is both bigger and stronger than her, so she's trapped until he decides to let her go.

She finally gives up on trying to get away, and resigns to simply crossing her arms and pouting.

After a moment's contemplation, she moves and allows herself to lean on her husband. He wraps his arms around her waist, and unbeknownst to her, grins in an especially devilish manner.

"I told you I wathn't thick," he whispers in her ear, soft blue hair tickling his lips.

"Ya are sick, and I gonna get ya to eat that soup one way or anotha'!" Anti-Wanda wriggles, and her husband lets her go.

She stands, picks up the soup, and turns back to the bedridden Anti-Cosmo. To his annoyance, she scoops up a spoonful of the soup and begins to — dare he say it? — feed him.

"Dear," he sighs wearily. "I do apprethiate the sentiment, but ith's really not neccess-" he's cut off as she shoves the spoon in his mouth, ignoring the protest.

She places a hand on her hip. "It's neccess-whatever if ya not gonna eat!"

Anti-Cosmo splutters in a very undignified manner, trying not to spit the infernal soup up while trying not to swallow it either. Finally he grudgingly decides to swallow. "Wath that really neccessthary?" He coughs a few times, and shakes his head slowly.

"Mhmm."

He blinks at her. "If I didn't love you, you would be in tho much trouble right now."

"But ya do?"

"Of course I do, love." He smiles and ruffles her hair a little, and her hands bat his away.

"I jus' fixed that!"

He ruffles her hair again. "Well I just messthed it up."

She crosses her arms and gives him a glare with no heat supporting it. She tries to come up with some sort of comeback, but when she can't, settles for cramming another spoonful of soup in his mouth.

This time he glares at her. "You muth sthop doing that, you'll kill me."

She giggles, because he looks so serious but sounds so funny with his little lisp and stuffy nose.

"Ith isn't funny!"

She giggles again, and has to cover her mouth to keep from snorting.

"Stop laughfing!"

She continues to laugh, and he purses his lips. Then he gets an idea. A rather brilliant one, if he does say so himself. He quickly takes the soup from her hands and sets it on the nightstand (for the last time, he hopes). Then he pulls Anti-Wanda into his lap and tickles her stomach.

She shrieks in surprise, and her laughs become louder. "Ss- yuk yuk! Stop!"she wheezes, squirming. He continues to mercilessly attack her with wriggling fingers, and she attempts to turn and tickle his ribcage.

Soon they're both laughing, their stomachs are aching, and they're darting in and out trying to tickle the other while not getting tickled themselves.

After what seems like only a few minutes but in reality is almost an hour, Anti-Cosmo crawls, panting, to the far side of the bed. "Truthe?"

"Truth?"

He shakes his head. "No, not truth, tru-ss. Truthe."

The pink-eyed anti-fairy furrows her brow. "Hm?"

"Tru-ss!"

"Oh!" She smiles; she gets it now. "Fine. Truce." For a moment, she's silent. "Only if you eat some mo' soup though."

He narrows his eyes at her, but then relaxes them and shakes his head disapprovingly. "I muth thop teaching you to negothiate." He mutters. "Fine," he says in a louder, defeated tone. "Do your worst."

The bowl is passed to him again, and he looks down into it with disdain. He raises a spoonful up to his lips and eats it, cringing. He repeats this seven times, before stopping to glance at his wife.

Her look tells him that she's not leaving until he finishes the soup. He grudgingly begins to drain the bowl again, and then finally — _finally!_ — it's empty.

"There, done."

She smiles and gives him a quick peck on the lips. "Good. Now y'all need some rest."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Do I now?"

"Mm-hm!"

A frown passes across his face — which is paler than it should be — and he folds his hands into his lap.

"Alright," he agrees after a moment. "But only becauthe I can tell that you won't thake no for an anther."

She grins and kisses his forehead. "Good boy!"

He presses his left cheek into the pillow with a half-hearted huff of exasperation. "I'm not a dog thoo be talked down to." He mutters.

She doesn't hear him, she's already gone to who-knows-where to do who-knows-what with the suspiciously not dusty duster.

And darn insomnia for existing, because Anti-Cosmo just can't fall asleep. He tosses, turns, even flips, but nothing works. _Attachment, _he thinks resentfully._ My single weakness. _So he grabs his wand and conjures the only thing that will help him fall asleep; he's sure that whatever she's doing can be finished later.

"Wha?" Is the first thing out of her mouth. Then something seems to fall into place with a nearly audible 'click'. "You!" She says, tone accusing and pointing with a dirty duster.

He widens his eyes in mock innocence. "Me?"

She narrows hers to pink slits, and turns to leave, shaking her head in disapproval. Which is her mistake — the turning to leave part, not the head shaking part.

Anti-Cosmo grabs her by the arm and tugs on it to turn her back to him. "I can't thleep," he says childishly, displaying his best pouty face.

The woman in front of him just raises an eyebrow as if asking his point.

"Stay?" He asks, but it isn't really a question. She pretends to be annoyed, but the act falters the moment his eyes meet hers.

Without so much as a single attempt at protesting, she climbs into the soft bed and snuggles into the covers beside him, laying her head on his chest. Okay, so maybe she's forgotten that colds are contagious, but does it really matter?

Meanwhile, her husband's insomnia is completely cured. He can feel his eyelids drooping, his mind fogging slightly, the once-clear images in his retinas blurring. This is the life. Sure, he may not be leader of the world yet, but this isn't a bad compromise. Not at all. He smiles contentedly, and allows sleep to cover him like a blanket.

Anti-Wanda's only regret? Well, if she could remember it, it would be that she has completely forgotten about the tea she was making for him. It's going to be stronger than Juandissimo after a workout. Oh well, there are worse things to forgot about, that's for sure.

* * *

**1420 words for one of my favourite plots. The actual writing isn't my cup of tea, though. *Sigh* Oh well.**

**Accents are a real pain in the buttocks to write. Especially with spellcheck. **

**Reviews? I love them like people love weekends. **


	10. Deny

**HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEEE! :D :D :D :D :D :D ASDFGHJKLWAERUOGIDFO! **

**Well, another year older. I am now officially 13, making me old enough to be on this site. TAKE THAT, TATTLETALES! Muhahaha! **

**. . . If you can't tell, I'm pretty excited. I had an amazing day at school, as *almost* everyone is nice to you on your birthday, you get free chocolate that you don't have to share with anyone, and you can do whatever you want because there isn't any school tomorrow! At least, if you're me you can. Though, if you're me, you get painful birthday beats (thanks a lot guys XD), homework, and a bunch of squealing girls screaming about how they're so excited for the Justin Bieber concert they're going to. *Sigh* If it was anyone else . . . **

**Enough of my rambling.**

**I'm sorry about how long this chapter has taken, I had a bunch of homework, my personal life has gotten crappy, and I'm running out of excuses to put here for my laziness.**

**Disclaimer: Someone just thought of an amazing gift you could get her for her birthday ;) (Hah, I doubt any of you would buy me an iPhone). **

* * *

10. Deny (Prompt 001)

Of _course_ she loved him! What a silly question. He was sweet, evil, handsome, smart, and just plain old better than anyone she had ever met! And he liked her. Like, _like_ liked her! At least she thought so. He did call her 'dear' and 'darling'. Those were terms of endeerment, right? And endeerment had something to do with love, right? So he had to love her! It was so obvious, an idiot could see it!

That's what she told herself as she fluttered around her room, doing nothing in particular.

"Anti-Wanda?" His voice floated upstairs, shaking her from her thoughts. "Dear, I hate to rush you with whatever you are doing, but we're going to miss the Breaking if you do not hurry!" He tried to hide it, but a string of worry slipped into his voice.

Anti-Wanda shook her head forcefully._ Snap outta it! He loves ya, he just ain't good at sharing his emote- er, emotes. It is emotes, right? _"Comin'!" She anti-poofed herself downstairs, coincidently landing just a little too close to her husband.

"Ready?" He asked, easily masking the awkwardness he felt from standing so close to her. She nodded once, and before either of them knew it, Anti-Cosmo had linked arms with her and anti-poofed them to the barrier that separated Anti-Fairy World from Fairy World.

The barrier was scheduled to break promptly at 7am, and when the two arrived, Anti-Cosmo's watch read six fifty-nine. Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned to his wife. "We're okay."

Despite getting there mere moments ago, Anti-Wanda began to fidget in anticipation. "How much long-" She was cut off by a loud crashing sound, and the barrier in front of them shattered. Shards of glass littered the ground, and the all of the anti-fairies — including her and her husband — let out a collective cheer and rushed forward to unleash their bad luck on the world.

Almost immediately, Anti-Cosmo and Anti-Wanda felt an irresistible tug that could only mean one thing: someone was in desperate need of bad luck. Without caring who it was, they anti-poofed away to go and dole out the punishment.

* * *

"Ah, hello again, my imbecilic moron of a counterpart!" A British accent made Wanda crease her brow in confusion. Well, until she turned around and saw Cosmo next to a spilt salt shaker. Then she wasn't confused at all, just a little peeved.

Glancing to the left of her newly-wedded husband, she saw two anti-fairies. _Of course. Who were you expecting, Jorgen Von Strangle?_

The anti-fairy with the British accent turned to Wanda. "Hello there, I don't believe we've met." He was smirking at her in a manner that made Wanda just want to slap him, though she'd never really been one for violence. "I am Anti-Cosmo. I'd say that I was pleased to meet you, but I was taught not to lie. My apologies." He didn't look very apologetic to Wanda. In fact, he looked pretty smug.

Wanda was just about to say something to put him in his place when what he had just said actually registered in her head. "Anti-Cosmo?" She asked aloud. "Then you must be anti-me!" She turned to the anti-fairy beside him.

Anti-Wanda grinned at her. "D'aw, shucks no. My name's Anti-Wanda, not Anti-Me! Anti-Cozzie, I thought you said your county-part was the imbec- imbec- uh, stupid one!" She said in a southern drawl.

Her husband sighed, and decided to change the subject. "Anyway, can either of you two buffoons hazard a guess as to why we're here? I'll give you a hint-"

"Oooh! Oooh! You're the Muffin Man and you're going to give us free muffins? I only like chocolate chip you know! Not carrot, or raisin, or bran, or-" Cosmo cut his dark doppelgänger off with a large grin, but the anti-fairy returned the favour.

"No, you ignorant boob. We're here because you haven't met your daily quota for bad luck!" He gave the fairies a fanged smile. "My dear, would you like to do the honours?" He asked Anti-Wanda, who accepted with a cheerful whoop.

Suddenly, the pancakes Wanda had been making (by hand, as they always tasted a little bit better that way) lit on fire with a soft 'foop'. Sighing, she turned back to the anti-fairy couple, who were smirking at the fairies.

"Don't you have anything better to do then to bother us?" The pink-haired fairy questioned, crossing her arms over her chest.

Anti-Cosmo frowned slightly. "What ever do you mean, 'anything better to do'? Bad luck _is_ the better thing to do! Why, it's like Christmas morning, except with black cats and saltshakers instead of presents!"

"Not for fairies it isn't."

Her husband's dark double gave her a fanged smirk. "Ah, but you see, dear Wanda, we are not fairies."

Wanda rolled her eyes. "I know that, smart alec, I'm not stupid."

"Are you sure about that? You _did_ marry him, after all," Anti-Cosmo nodded towards his colourful counterpart, who had poofed up some string for himself and was now playing with it.

The fiery pink-haired fairy gave him a sceptical look. "You married her, did you not?" She flicked her eyes toward Anti-Wanda, who was looking quite mischievous as she watched Cosmo and his string. A moment later, she anti-poofed up some scissors and cut the string in half. Cosmo frowned, and Anti-Wanda stuck her tongue out at him. Wanda hoped she was right in her assumption that the southern anti-fairy and Anti-Cosmo were indeed married.

Suddenly, Anti-Cosmo looked uncomfortable. "I . . . Wanda, you really don't know much about us, do you?"

Wanda blinked. "Er, not really I guess." Feeling an odd tension spark, she uncrossed her arms and re-crossed them, this time with her right arm over her left, trying to act casual. "Why?"

"It is," he began, glancing over to make sure their spouses were still watching the piece of string. "Something akin to what you may call an arranged marriage."

"Uh, pardon?"

"What I mean, is that if you had married Juandissimo instead of Cosmo, well, Anti-Wanda would have to marry Anti-Juandissimo also." Anti-Cosmo clarified, mirroring Wanda's stance.

Wanda could only frown slightly at him, sceptical. "You mean to say that if I had, oh, I don't know, married _Jorgen_," she felt sick at the thought. "Then Anti-Wanda would have to marry the Anti-Jorgen?"

The English anti-fairy was exasperated. Was she _really_ a straight A student? "Yes! Which is part of the reason we loathe you fairies so much; _you sort of control our entire lives_."

Wanda was silent for a moment, contemplating. She lowered her voice to ask her next question.

"Do you even like her?"

"Would I tell you if I didn't?" Anti-Cosmo smirked on the outside, but inside his stomach churned. _Did he like her? Did he . . . _love_ her?_ He shoved the question away for later . . . or never.

The pink-haired fairy in front of him let her frown fade. "Come on, it's not like I'm evil or anything," she paused. "No offence," she added after a moment of considering the current company.

"Why do you care?" He blurted, feeling defensive. Why shouldn't he? She_ was_ asking him a pretty personal question, and they had barely even met!

Wanda smirked knowingly. "Ah, so it's like that, is it?"

Fortunately, he was saved from having to reply by his wife, who appeared by his side and tugged on his jacket sleeve. "Anti-Cozzie, can we go now?" she asked impatiently, wanting to go cause some more bad luck.

"Alright, dear. Just let me take care of one more thing," he waved his dark wand once, and all of Wanda's secret chocolate stash disappeared. Of course, she didn't find out until later that day.

Wanda narrowed her eyes. "Do I want to know what you just did?"

The anti-fairy smirked mischievously, as only he could. "No, but you shall probably find out regardless."

Without another word, he gave his wand a final twirl to poof himself and his wife away from a certain nosy fairy and her annoying husband, forgetting all about awkward questions and unsaid confessions.

* * *

Anti-Wanda wasn't _that_ stupid. She knew what her husband — the word made her grin like a madwoman — and counterpart had been talking about. She had seen the near-invisible blush on his cheeks when Wanda had asked whether or not he loved his wife.

She wasn't patient, either. She didn't like waiting. Waiting was boring, with a capital B. Unless it was waiting for Anti-Cosmo to admit he loved her; that was actually sort of entertaining. She would rather he just admit he loved her. Still, his awkwardness was kind of cute. Because how often was Anti-Cosmo, evil genius, flustered? Exactly.

So maybe she could wait a little longer? Yeah, she guessed she could. He would come to his senses eventually, because he was a smart guy. She could wait this one time. Just this once.

She relished every day that passed after that, because it meant she was one day closer to waking up and finding out he had gotten over his denial. One day closer to hearing him say the three little words: "I love you".

* * *

**(1547 words, if you're wondering.) Yeah, this is basically how I imagine their early relationship. AC is a denial monster, because love is irrational and pointless to him, and AW is completely accepting and just the cute little anti-fairy she normally is. :D Oh, and the way Anti-Wanda spells 'endearment' in the first paragraph is COMPLETELY INTENTIONAL!**

**You know, I would like to make a request. I'm going to invoke the 'Birthday' card and ask that you lurkers review, because I all I honestly want is some feedback. If it's negative, I can live with that. If it's positive, I can live with that. If it's constructive criticism, I can definitely live with that. ;)**

**The best birthday present you guys can get me is a review. Even if it's just 'great story, update soon!' I'd appreciate it! (Does anyone think it's ironic that as I look at the clock, it says 10:18? XD**

***Hums* Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me . . . **


	11. Aura

**Alright, I'm sorry. I've contracted writer's block, and as most of you know, it's a hard thing to get rid of. *Sigh***

**Anyway, here is another AU. Because I can.**

**Disclaimer: I'm too tired to think of something witty to write here, so just pretend that there's something funny here.**

* * *

11. Aura (Prompt 063)

He isn't stupid; he knows the doctors say he's crazy. He's not. He is _not_ crazy. He's just too smart for his own good. Yeah, that's it.

Anti-Cosmo sits with his knees hugged to his chest, his back against the semi-soft wall. Theyhave made sure he can't hurt himself, and there are guards watching him 24/7, but they really needn't watch him. He's not going to do nothing.

Meanwhile, nurse Anti-Wanda prepares herself for another gruelling day. They have a new patient: Anti-Cosmo is his name, and apparently he's been displaying psychopathic behaviour for a while. When he finally did something illegal, they caught him, preformed a quick examination, and threw him into a padded room before you could say 'crazy'. She frowns slightly.

How bad can he really be?

The gossip circulating the 13th Mallory Hospital for the Mentally Unstable is incredibly unreliable and outrageous most of the time, and when it isn't it's usually crazier than its patients, but this time . . . well, this time Anti-Wanda isn't so sure.

With a heavy sigh she trudges downstairs to the newly occupied cell, Anti-Cosmo's breakfast—or what passes for it—in hand. When she reaches the door, she stands there for a moment. What if he really _does_ have three tongues like everyone says he does? Or eyes with no whites, just pupils?_ Don't be ridiculous,_ she scolds herself. Shaking her head to clear it, she punches in the entrance code on the small keypad, and the door opens silently.

Anti-Cosmo looks up as the door opens. He isn't particularly sure if he trusts any of the doctors, nurses, or therapists in this place, as their auras all seem darker than they should be. However, he does know that should he do anything rash, security guards shall be on him before he can make it to the end of the hallway.

So he merely uncurls himself and examines the new arrival. She's nothing special at first glance, what with her average looks and everything, but her aura—it's something else. It's pink—_like her eyes_, Anti-Cosmo notes—with threads of light green tangled together. It's like Christmas colours, but with a white film overtop. He's seen people with auras that have more than one colour, but never one with colours that are opposite. _Complementary colours,_ Anti-Cosmo thinks. _How peculiar._

She speaks gently, but with a cautious, almost unnerved edge that does not go unnoticed by Anti-Cosmo.

He glances over at what's on the tray she's brought. A blob of something that might be applesauce, the remains of what may have once been the cousin of hash browns, and a glass of—_is that orange juice?_ Well, one decent thing out of three isn't too bad.

For the first time in what feels like decades, he speaks. "I suppose they were out of pancakes, hm?"

The surprised pink eyes look back at him, as her aura swirls majestically around her like a pink-and-green shield.

He grins, revealing small, pointed fangs. "I take it you think me delirious?" He pauses for a moment, but continues without waiting for an answer. He doesn't need a verbal one: her face is as readable as a book. "Well then, I must be a special case." He lets out a small, humourless chuckle. "No pun intended."

"I dunno how to respond to that," she says, looking dumbfounded.

Anti-Cosmo crawls to the edge of the bed and folds his legs underneath him, resting his hands on his lap like a child waiting for a bedtime story. "Come on, have you not had patients who aren't actually insane and can carry a conversation like a normal person?" He can't help the wistful tone his voice takes on when he says _normal_.

"Not really."

"Oh."

Anti-Wanda doesn't really like to speak to the patients. She doesn't like fraternising with anyone who isn't safe, and crazy people_ definitely_ aren't safe.

She turns and is about to leave when his voice—accented English, she thinks—rings out again. "Your name, what is it?"

"Anti-Wanda," she replies immediately, not stopping to wonder if she should be telling him.

When she turns back around to face him, he's standing right in front of her. She shrieks in surprise, jumping backwards.

He gives her a little wink. "Anti-Cosmo," after a mock-bow, he holds his hand out to her. "Pleased to meet your acquaintance."

She hesitantly reaches out her own, smaller hand, and shakes with him. His hand is not warm, but not quite cold either, its temperature hovering in that indescribable area.

"Will I see you again?" He asks, sounding not unlike a schoolboy after a first date with a pretty girl. Her aura flickers almost imperceptibly, the green suddenly becoming more dominant than the pink, but it switches back before Anti-Cosmo can make sense of it.

She nods slightly in response, not trusting her tongue. Then she turns for the final time and walks carefully out, the door clicking back into place behind her, and the last wisps of her aura fading along with Anti-Cosmo's smirk.

Anti-Cosmo heads back to his bed, ignoring the tray of food.

Her aura . . . he could watch it all day; the pinks and greens mixing, blending, swirling in an array of magnificence never seen before. It is beautiful. The shades call to him like a hunter's horn, whispering their melodic melodies into his tired ears.

Carefully, ever so carefully, because that squeak the bed make irks him to the point of madness—_still no pun intended_—he eases himself into a lying position.

He falls asleep and dreams of swirling pink and green glows, each dancing to the rhythm of a heartbeat.

_Tha-thump._

_Tha-thump._

_Tha-thump._

* * *

_Tha-thump._

_Tha-thump._

_Tha-thump._

Her heart pounds, her palms sweat, and she's sure she's red-faced. Why, she can't tell. _It's because of that Anti-Cosmo_, she thinks. That's probably why.

He's definitely a weird one. Even so, she feels drawn to him, like some outside force is trying to shove her—

_No,_ she thinks, cutting off her thought mid-sentence. _I'm not going back in there._

She marches up to her boss and tells him this, the unsettling rockiness of her stomach growing stronger with each hollow step. She also tells her boss that she refuses to go back in that cell, and should he tell her that she must, she shall resign immediately.

Only . . . it doesn't come to that. Her boss merely gives a slight shrug, and tells her he will get someone to take her place.

Feeling confused but relived, Anti-Wanda heads away, trying to shake all thoughts of the mysterious patient away.

* * *

Anti-Cosmo is most certainly not disappointed when she does not return. No,_ not at all_. He barely knew her; he shan't miss her.

Even if she broke a promise. She told him she would come back. He sits on his creaky bed, silently sulking.

The next morning, a different nurse comes in. The new woman's aura is red, the colour of blood and roses mixed in a morbid cauldron. He does not speak to this woman, no, merely sets his gaze upon her in an attempt to unnerve her.

It works, as her aura darkens, the red swirling around her turning to a deep burgundy. He smirks at her as she scurries out, but that smirk vanishes as he notices a faint shimmer of pink and green through the door's crack.

It's her.

He is at the door before he even realises he's moving, and he jams a foot into the shrinking space between the door and its frame.

He estimates that he will have approximately one minute before the guards arrive to place him back into his cell, so he must move quickly. He starts to count the seconds.

_60, 59, 58._

Anti-Cosmo yanks the door open, and walks swiftly but silently down the halls, following the only aura he has ever been completely and utterly infatuated with. He watches the colours as they swirl around her, melding together in a seemingly impromptu dance.

_57, 56, 55. _

He is completely hypnotised by her._ No, not her, _he corrects himself_. Her aura. Not her._

_54, 53, 52._

Halfway down the hallway, she stops as if she's heard a noise. If she has heard something, it isn't Anti-Cosmo's footsteps. No sir: he is as quiet as a chruch mouse. Maybe even more, because Anti-Cosmo does not squeak in an annoyingly high pitch.

_51, 50, 49._

_48, 47, 46._

Slowly, ever so slowly, Anti-Wanda turns around. Anti-Cosmo stands directly behind her, eyes twinkling with amusement and a corner of his mouth curved upward in a half-smile.

She shrieks, but he catches her by the arm before she can jump back, or run away, or faint.

_37, 36, 35._

"What—?"

"You didn't come back," Anti-Cosmo says simply, childishly, as if she's committed the worst crime known to mankind. "You told me you would come back." To himself, he sounds like someone on one of those overly-dramatic dramas on the television.

_34, 33, 32._

Confusion makes her crease her brow, which gradually relaxes as she tries to remember.

_31, 30, 29._

Anti-Cosmo swears that he can smell something burning.

"I's sorry," she says, though he can tell she's not. She's stalling for time, that's what she's doing. He knows it; knows that look of suspicion and distrust well enough to recognise it anywhere.

"No, you're not," he replies matter-of-factly.

She pulls her arms free of his grasp. "Why does yah care?"

_21, 20, 19._

"Why shouldn't I?"

She obviously doesn't know how to respond, so Anti-Cosmo continues on.

"Have you ever seen an aura?"

_18, 17, 16._

"An arm-what?" She acts befuddled, but Anti-Cosmo hears the cautious edge to her voice and sees the flicker of a shadow over her rose-coloured eyes.

He blinks at her, noticing that her aura has stilled its swirling movement completely, looking not unlike stagnant water. If the water is pink and green. "An aura. You know what I'm talking about, admit it."

_15, 14, 13._

She doesn't reply.

_12, 11, 10._

Anti-Cosmo frowns. "I can see them too, you know."

Finally, she speaks. "Really?"

He nods.

_9, 8, 7._

"Your aura is pink . . . pink with little green fibres here and there." Anti-Cosmo says, looking inquisitively downward. "What colour is my aura?"

_6, 5, 4._

Anti-Wanda merely blinks at him, taking in every inch of him with her eyes. Anti-Cosmo can hear guards' boots clomping down the hallway rapidly, but he doesn't press the young nurse for a reply.

_3, 2, 1— _

The guards grab Anti-Cosmo by the arms, and drag him down the dimly lit hallway.

_0._

The mastermind can hear Anti-Wanda's slightly shocked whisper from ten feet away; probably because it is more of a shout than whisper. "Green an' pink."

He is green . . . and pink.

She is pink . . . and green.

He mulls over this as the guards shove him roughly back into the semi-padded room, shutting the door securely behind them. Automatically, Anti-Cosmo goes to sit on the bed. He doesn't fold his hands in his lap, but instead lays down on the cool material and stares up at the roof.

He and Anti-Wanda are complete opposites. Completely different. How . . . interesting.

Anti-Cosmo knows plenty about auras. He knows that the colour of your aura determines your personality, knows that the darker your aura, the darker your mood, and, perhaps most importantly, knows that those whose aura's are opposite, are, well, soulmates.

He's seen girls with purple auras holding hands with boys with yellow auras, seen boys with red auras kissing girls with blue auras.

So now, since his aura is green and pink, and hers is pink and green . . .

Anti-Cosmo sighs, he supposes he should start planing their wedding. It could take a while, so perhaps it is fortunate that he will be stuck in this white cell for quite some time.

The debatably insane man smiles slightly; who would have thought that he would find his soulmate in one of the loony bins?

* * *

**2124 words, 1 awesome psychopath, and a whole lotta craziness (no, the puns are still not intended). I really liked writing Anti-Cosmo here, because I could be as repetitive as I liked, and make him as creepy as I wanted. The creepier the better!**

**Oh, and the whole hospital name thing? Well, I did some digging, and found this: Mallory: An English surname, but derived from Old French malheure, meaning 'unfortunate' or 'unlucky'. So, the 13th Mallory Hospital is a very unlucky place ̶w̶̶h̶̶e̶̶r̶̶e̶̶ ̶̶I̶̶ ̶̶c̶̶u̶̶r̶̶r̶̶e̶̶n̶̶t̶̶l̶̶y̶̶ ̶̶l̶̶i̶̶v̶̶e̶̶.̶ that I created. Heh.**

**Again, I really can't tell you how sorry I am. Life's busy, and writer's block sucks. On the bright side, I think I may have cured this particular case of writer's block. **

**I don't deserve the reviews, but I love them anyway. **


	12. Tangled

**Heh, did I ever mention that I'm not the most reliable when it comes to updates? Yes? Oh, well, even so I feel compelled to remind you that I'm not reliable when it comes to updates. XD However, I do take pride in finishing what I started. If it takes me ten years to finish this, so be it. Finally, I'd like to thank GypsyGirl098 for encouraging me and helping to give me that extra little push to finish this chapter. :)**

**Just a small side note: For the purposes of this one-shot, Anti-Cosmo's fangs are slightly curled, like they are in most episodes he appears in (which are far, _far_ too few for my liking. Hmph).**

**Disclaimer: The authoress of this fanfiction does not own, nor will she ever own _T__he Fairly OddParents._ She does not understand the reasoning behind your wanting to sue her for it, and she finds this whole 'writing a funny/witty disclaimer' thing abhorrent. She now says goodbye and wishes you a good day, sir.**

**(Oh, and ever since I saw Sheldon from BBT use the word brobdingnagian, I've wanted to write something with it. It's a funny word, brobdingnagian, ain't it?)**

* * *

12. Tangled (Prompt 079)

Embarrassing. Awkward. A mess of brobdingnagian proportions. He doesn't know which is the best way to describe his current situation. Oh, why could he not have been born with ordinary teeth? Or at least less-curved canines?

* * *

_They (which included himself, Anti-Wanda, Anti-Blonda, Anti-Melody, Anti-Juandissimo, Anti-Lola, and Anti-Luther) had somehow ended up playing the infamous 'spin the wand'—known as spin the bottle on Earth—and it had been Anti-Wanda's spin. How she and her sister even ended up hanging out with him and his group he had no idea, but Anti-Cosmo didn't find it worthwhile to kick them out._

_So anyway, it had been Anti-Wanda's spin. She spun the wand, and as it twirled Anti-Cosmo wondered who it would land on. So far, it had landed on him, him again, Anti-Lola, him, and Anti-Lola._

_He had recently made an educated guess and suspected the wand was bewitched. It _was_ Anti-Lola's wand after all, and everyone knew she had a ginormous, life-consuming crush on him._

_He internally sighed as the wand settled, the black star tip pointing straight at him. _What a surprise,_ he thought sarcastically._

_With a small smirk that plainly said "I dare you", he stared steadily at the anti-fairy across from him._

_Anti-Wanda crawled forward slightly, and Anti-Cosmo made a mock-pucker. With a roll of her rose-coloured eyes, she leaned in and gave him a soft kiss._

_Unfortunately for both of them, their mouths were slightly open, and somehow, their teeth tangled together in a mess of fangs and crooked pearly whites._

* * *

Anti-Cosmo sighs heavily as he tries to pull back and fails again, causing Anti-Wanda to be jerked forward.

Anti-Lola breaks the awkward silence that has fallen between the group. "Uh, guys? We're playing spin the wand, not seven minutes in heaven."

Anti-Cosmo rolls his eyes. "This is going to sound completely ridiculous, but I believe that we are stuck." When he moves his lips to speak, they brush against Anti-Wanda's, leaving a light tingle where they come in contact.

Immediately, Anti-Luther lets out a loud snort, which is quickly silenced when everyone (mainly Anti-Cosmo) looks at him. "What?"

"Okay . . . so how do we untangle them?" Anti-Melody asks, eyeing the fuming Anti-Lola beside her warily, trying to make sure she doesn't lunge for Anti-Wanda and tear her limb from limb.

The silence from the rest of the group is nearly deafening.

"Don't all speak at once," Anti-Cosmo mutters dryly.

Anti-Lola suddenly perks up, seeming to have an idea. "What if we use my magical detangler? It _is_ for hair, but I'm sure it would work on teeth. Oh, but we'd need another bottle; mine's almost out."

She grabs Anti-Melody's arm, and anti-poofs the two of them to her home.

Anti-Luther, Anti-Blonda, and Anti-Juandissimo all exchange questioning glances, and then simultaneously raise their dark wands and anti-poof to the local store, leaving the two others alone.

Anti-Cosmo doesn't understand why_ all_ of then have to go get another bottle, instead of letting Anti-Lola and Anti-Melody go get it. It would certainly make this situation a lot less awkward.

He and Anti-Wanda are still stuck together, each trying their best not to glance into the other's eyes. Anti-Cosmo softly clears his throat, trying in vain to alleviate some of the awkwardness.

"So," Anti-Cosmo starts, lips brushing hers as his mouth moves to form the word. "Uh, this is odd."

Anti-Wanda starts to nod, but stops when she realises that in addition to moving her own head, she is also moving Anti-Cosmo's.

"Sorry!" She winces guiltily.

They're both silent for a few moments' time, hoping that someone, anyone, will come back with a bottle of magical detangler.

"What is taking them so long?" Anti-Cosmo mutters, half to himself, trying to control the urge to zap something in frustration. It really isn't as easy as one might think.

Anti-Wanda can't exactly bite her lip, so she settles for fidgeting. Oh, why couldn't she have been born with normal teeth?

"Anti-Lola's gonna be gettin' so mad at me," Anti-Wanda sighs, and Anti-Cosmo is relieved to find that she actually had eaten a mint before all of . . . this.

The teenage boy shifts uncomfortably. "It's not your fault; her wand is bewitched."

Both anti-fairies can't help but notice the amount of lip movement that one sentence takes. Suddenly, Anti-Cosmo is overcome with a strangely primitive urge to ignore his common sense just this once and kiss the girl he's conveniently stuck to.

Before he even knows what he's doing, his lips are moving against hers again, but this time they do so without making words.

Anti-Wanda is just as shocked as he is, but she internally grins and kisses back gently.

Their lips mash together in a symphony of raspberry lip chap, desire, and a hint of tea. Ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him that the others will be back any second now, Anti-Cosmo pulls Anti-Wanda into his lap and presses a steady hand to her back.

Their kisses grow deeper, more urgent, and when Anti-Cosmo's tongue begins to hesitantly explore Anti-Wanda's mouth, she lets her own tongue tangle with his in a fascinating dance.

Anti-Wanda moves her hands up from her sides and gently squeezes the neatly pressed jacket covering his shoulders, her fingers tightening against the soft material as the kiss continues to become more and more passionate. After a few more blissful moments, Anti-Wanda pulls away to take a much-needed breath, but is surprised to find that Anti-Cosmo's lips are still locked with hers.

Oh yes, their teeth. They're still stuck.

Anti-Wanda's cheeks darken considerably, the heat radiating off in waves. She can feel Anti-Cosmo inhale, presumably to speak, but she cuts him off by reinstating the kiss.

For the second time, Anti-Cosmo's mind is on hyperdrive, his senses overwhelmed by all of the different tastes, scents, and emotions that are charging the air with an undeniably intense electricity. Continuing to act on pure instinct, he hugs her closer with one hand, and the other comes up to entwine itself in her hair.

Anti-Wanda makes a soft, pleased sound in the back of her throat, and moves her hands once again, this time to grip his jacket tightly.

Without warning, Anti-Blonda, Anti-Juandissimo, and Anti-Luther all anti-poof back into the room, putting an abrupt stop to the couple's impromptu makeout session.

Anti-Juandissimo makes a sound halfway between a snort of derisiveness and an overly dramatic gasp, causing the two to break apart—or what passes for it when their teeth are tangled together.

Anti-Blonda clears her throat and shifts uncomfortably on her toes. "Uh, we found another bottle," she says, holding up the plastic container and smiling weakly.

With a dark cloud, Anti-Lola and Anti-Melody anti-poof in, and before anyone can comment on the situation, and without a second glance at embarrassed twosome, Anti-Lola flutters over and gives two quick sprays with the bottle in her hand.

Anti-Cosmo tugs backwards, but Anti-Wanda is still attached and is pulled forward with a jerk, almost knocking Anti-Cosmo over. Both anti-fairies feel their cheeks heat considerably, and try to conceal it as best they can.

Anti-Lola frowns and tries again, this time spraying the detangler several times.

With one final tug, Anti-Cosmo's fangs come free, and Anti-Wanda finds herself able to take that deep breath she's been needing.

Not that she has anything against being stuck to Anti-Cosmo.

After a few more moments of awkward silence, Anti-Lola speaks and says that they should continue the game. The rest of the anti-fairies agree—though some only begrudgingly—and the group resumes their game.

Every so often, Anti-Wanda steals a glance at Anti-Cosmo. The young genius seems completely nonchalant, unlike Anti-Wanda whose heartbeat is still thrumming in her ears, whose thoughts keep on flickering back to a few minutes ago, and who feels an irrational wave of anger because Anti-Cosmo doesn't seem to be affected _at all._

Oh, how little she knows about him. If he had telepathy, he surely would be laughing.

Anti-Cosmo is not the least bit focused on the game, no, his thoughts are wandering through his most recent memories, trying to pinpoint what in the name of Britain could've made him kiss her.

It is odd that he should let his more primitive urges control him; he has always found it simple to ignore them. All of a sudden, a highly undesirable thought flickers in the back of his brilliant mind.

Oh crumpets, is he attracted to her? Oh no. Oh, _no._ This is _not_ good, not good at all.

How can that even be possible? As anti-fairies, they are the complete opposite of fairies, who love and care for each other. Anti-fairies don't love: they are incapable of it. It cannot be allurement if anti-fairies are unable to love.

If it isn't attraction, what is it? What could possibly make him delirious enough to kiss her without any provocation?

The question bothers him throughout the remainder of the game, and even after, when he is lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a glare of complete contempt. The resident genius of Anti-Fairy World thinks, but cannot come up with a viable answer. So he does what anyone else in his position would do: he researches it using the many archives in the basement of the library.

As expected, there is not much on behavioural intentions. Most of the documents concern themselves with personal opinions on best way to break a mother's back, or whether spilled salt is better than a broken mirror (which it is, obviously). After a few hours of searching without reward, Anti-Cosmo gives up.

It isn't like the answer would majorly impact his life in any way, anyway. It may stick at the back of his mind like a stubborn cobweb, but it won't bother him.

Okay, maybe it will bother him a little. Maybe. Maybe he might venture to her house, knock on the door, and ask her a question. Perhaps she will reply to his question, and possibly he will smile, and maybe, just maybe, it can be the beginning of a simply marvellous era.

Probably not, though.

* * *

**1927 words, and I think I liked the way that turned out. I do hope it was satisfactory. XD For the record, that prompt is awesome.**

**To let you all know, I won't be able to update at all from December 26th-January 2nd, because I will be in Cuba, attempting to resurrect my tan.**

**Also, I'm planning on writing another one-shot involving Anti-Wanda singing, and I need a song for it. And gosh, is it tough to find a song. If anybody has any ideas, I'd really appreciate you dropping off a review and telling me. Thanks in advance!**

**In closing, I'd like to wish you all a happy holiday, and if I don't update tomorrow or Christmas, a splendid New Year! :D**


	13. Read

**Alright, this time it wasn't my fault. Allow me to explain. *Clears throat* You see, after I returned home from a nice vacation in Cuba, I got sick with some sort of flu, and was forced to stay in bed all day for 3-4ish days. Luckily, I recovered in time to be sent to the dreadful place we call 'school', and received homework each day, limiting my writing time. When I finally finished a chapter, I attempted to log onto here with my laptop, and for some odd reason, I could not. The only way I could get on was with my phone, and I can't update with my phone. After a little less than a week, I had access to a different laptop (the one I am on right now) and was finally able to begin the editing of this chapter. **

**There's your explanation. So it isn't my fault!**

***Shameless self-inserting ahead . . . sort of. You shall see. Oh, and before I forget, the fourth wall is basically the tv screen. There are 3 walls to every room inside a cartoon, the fourth doesn't really exist in their universe. If a character can see through the fourth wall, it means that they know they are in a cartoon/tv show/book/comic/whatever, and they can essentially 'see' the viewer (you).***

**Disclaimer: If I actually owned _The Fairly OddParents,_ do you think I'd be writing fanfiction for it?**

* * *

13. Read (Prompt 94)

Anti-Cosmo floats into his and Anti-Wanda's room, eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

"Anti-Wanda, love, would you care to tell me what you did to my poor carnivorous hibiscus? It's sort of . . . uh, charred, to put it nicely." He says, scraping his hands together to get rid of the last of the black dust.

"Your carny-voodoo-hiss-a-whozawhat?"

"Oh, never mind." Anti-Cosmo sighs with a wave of his hand. "What are you looking at?"

Anti-Wanda twirls her chair around, turning away from the computer's screen to face her husband with a small shrug. "I dunno, but it's got a lots of words and stuff all over it."

Curiosity piqued, Anti-Cosmo floats over and peers at the screen. Anti-Wanda is right; there are plenty of words on the screen. Taking ahold of the mouse, he rolls over some of the blue highlighted words at the top of the page, finally clicking on one that says 'Cartoons'. The next page loads, and a large list of different names appears, numbers accompanying them on the right.

"Hm," Anti-Cosmo says after scrolling down the list a little and noticing the numbers are all in descending order. "How did you reach this site, anyway?"

Anti-Wanda offers another shrug. "I 'ono, I was clickin' away and then I done somethin' and gots here."

Stifling a flinch at his wife's grammar, Anti-Cosmo clicks on one of the blue titles, watching with intrigue as another page pops up, this one displaying even more links. He scrolls down again, eyes flitting over the short blurbs of text without reading them. For some reason, some of the names in the text seem oddly familiar to him.

He is about to click the link to go to the next page when something falls into place in his mind with a nearly audible 'click'. Creasing his brow in confusion, he moves the screen upwards again, eyes more intense as they flick back and forth trying to find what caught his attention.

Ah, there it is.

"Another one-hundred one-shot challenge . . . read my latest submission . . . Anti-Cosmo 'x' Anti-Wanda centred? What in the name of Britain?" Anti-Cosmo mutters, clicking on the blue link above the odd description.

Anti-Wanda points to the screen excitedly. "That's us! What's us doin' on here?"

Her husband frowns slightly. "I would like to find out."

Skipping past the annoying bold text that seems to be irrelevant to the rest, he begins to read.

_"It's times like these that he wonders why she trusts him so much. These times when she snuggles into him, emitting soft little sounds that make his heart—however dark—swell with affection. Why does she do it? She shouldn't trust him at all."_ Anti-Cosmo reads, the conversant text creating a strong feeling of deja-vu.

_"He's a lying, cheating scoundrel who will stab his own friends in the back just to prove them wrong. So why in the bloody blue blazes does she trust him to not do the same to her?_" Suddenly, his eyes widen by a fraction as realisation dawns on him. The familiar names, their own names, the stereotypical 'bloody blue blazes', why, he should have realised it sooner.

"Bloody . . ."

Anti-Wanda turns her eyes to Anti-Cosmo and nudges him gently. "Wha's this?"

The leader of Anti-Fairy World groans and softly begins to bang his head on the desk.

"This, my dear Anti-Wanda, is a complete invasion of privacy; a horrendous example of humanity; an example of the lowest scum in all of the twenty universes: it is . . ._ my inner monologue_." Anti-Cosmo sighs dramatically, mind working overtime to try and figure out how this . . . this _person_ could have possibly gotten ahold of his train of thought.

"Yah in-ma monohog?"

Anti-Cosmo shakes his head. "Inner monologue. My contemplations; my thoughts, basically." He wrinkles his nose at the thought of someone poking around inside his head, discovering his secrets. A small shudder runs through him, and he shoves the thought forcefully away.

Curiosity gets the best of Anti-Wanda, and she fidgets in her seat. "Go tah the next chappy!" She says, tugging at her husband's jacket sleeve.

"There's another chapter?" Anti-Cosmo gasps, scrolling rapidly. "Oh, blast it all! This is simply ridiculous!" He growls darkly in exasperation, but obliges, clicking the 'next' button and waiting for the second chapter to load. Dread settles itself in his stomach as the page pops up, and he scrolls down with an unhealthy amount of trepidation.

Since the script's vocabulary is too advanced for Anti-Wanda to read, she insists that Anti-Cosmo read it aloud. It feels strange to talk about himself in the third person, and he wonders if the author ever writes from a different perspective.

_"Anti-Wanda is petrified of storms, and anything they involve. Anti-Cosmo learns this mere hours after they are legally married._

_"She's fluttering around the castle like a hummingbird, looking at this and that and _hey, I think I used to have one of these before!_ Anti-Cosmo isn't sure how to react, so he just murmurs agreement and prays she doesn't break anything."_

The couple continue to read the eerily accurate story, and when they finish, continue on to the next, and the next, and the next. Some of the 'one-shots' (as the stalker-like author calls them) are straight from Anti-Cosmo's memories, while others seem to take place in entirely different universes, or even in the future. _How odd,_ he thinks.

After about an hour or so, the two finally reach the newest chapter, titled 'Read'. By this time, it is nearly midnight, and Anti-Wanda finds herself resting her head on her husband's arm, struggling to stay awake.

_"Anti-Cosmo floats into his and Anti-Wanda's room, eyes narrowed._

_"Anti-Wanda, love, would you care to tell me what you did to my poor carnivorous hibiscus? It's sort of . . . uh, charred, to put it nicely." He says, scraping his hands together to get rid of the last of the black dust." _

Anti-Cosmo jumps, knocking his sleepy spouse's head to the side.

"Mmmf?" She murmurs, only half-awake.

The anti-fairy beside her shakes his head to clear it. "This just happened! How the devil does the author know about all of this?" He exclaims, half in awe of this technology and half suspicious of it. He stops as another thought flits across his conciousness. "Wait, if this is the past, does that mean that the rest of this little story will show the immediate future?" He asks himself, scrolling rapidly down like a child scampering downstairs on Christmas Day.

"Hmmm, After about an hour or so . . . only half-awake . . . scampering downstairs on Christmas Day . . . Aha!" He says, reading over his current speech. "It says here that in about ten seconds, you're going to start snoring. Hmph, that's ridiculous. You aren't even sleepy, are you, Anti-Wanda?" He glances over. "Anti-Wanda?"

After a moment or two of silence, the southern anti-fairy begins to snore, and Anti-Cosmo grimaces._ How do they always know what's going to happen? _He shifts, annoyed by this strange feeling of not knowing.

_—And what would happen if something didn't go they way they wrote it? _This thought gives Anti-Cosmo an idea. The mastermind rubs his hands together as he reads through the rest of the one-shot, trying to figure out what he could do to render the infernal story inaccurate.

Not wanting to wake the sleeping Anti-Wanda, Anti-Cosmo twirls his wand and poofs himself into the kitchen. _If I want to mess up that story, I must do something I would not usually do, or say something I would not usually say. _He ponders this for a moment, and as ideas flood into his head he notices they all have one thing in common: they're all extremely mortifying_. Oh, crumpets. _

He poofs up a stack of crisp black plates, sincerely hoping no one has set up a hidden camera and is recording him. Gritting his teeth, he picks up the first plate, and tosses it far across the room, flinching when it shatters against the wall. "Opa!" He yells, his right eye twitching once. Picking up the next plate, he whips it as far as it will go, following suit with ten more plates and yelling "Opa!" after each one. By the time he reaches the bottom of the pile, his right eye is twitching uncontrollably, the monocle sitting atop it dangerously close to falling, and he is hyperventilating.

He believes that this is probably the stupidest thing he's ever done in his entire life.

After taking a few deep breaths, and another twitch or two, Anti-Cosmo poofs back up to the bedroom to see what has happened in the story. He re-reads the chapter, beginning right from the very top. As he reaches the bottom of the page, his mouth begins to drop open as he reads the rest of the material—the newly-edited material that now contains an embarrassing scene in which he throws plates and pretends to be Greek. _Well, there goes my reputation. _

Anti-Cosmo clenches his fists and silently fumes._ If I ever get my hands on that writer . ._ . He lets his thoughts trail off darkly, shaking his head. He will get revenge_, _and it _will_ be sweet.

As he begins to plot his revenge though, he can swear that somehow, somewhere, a young teen is laughing maniacally at him through her computer screen. Oh, how he hates the fourth wall.

* * *

**1796 words of me self-inserting _like a boss! :D_**

**I'm so mean to Anti-Cosmo. I mean, first I kill him, then I turn him into a psychopath, and now I make him throw plates and pretend to be Greek. Mwahaha! Oh, and if any of you are Greek and offended by that, I really didn't mean to offend you. I'm just a poor little girl trying to amuse myself as I travel through life.**

**Anyway, I've gotten a few requests via review and PM to continue Aura (Chapter 11), so I've begun the tedious chore of searching through all of the prompts to find one that will suit my purpose. I have the basic plot down, but it needs a little tweaking. Just a heads up; don't expect it up for a little while.**

**Have I ever told you how much I love your reviews? They make me feel all fuzzy inside. XD **


	14. Memory

**I meant to have this up yesterday; sorry about that! **

**Anway, before you start this one I'd like you to know something. There's a plot point in this particular one-shot that is eerily similar to a different story on here. If the author of that story reads this, I'd like them to know that I'm really, really, really sorry about this. I honestly didn't mean to copy your plot. I actually started writing this one sometime in November, but never got around to finishing it until recently. I know this looks like plagiarism, but you'll have to trust that it's not. Great minds think alike, I suppose. :)**

**This one-shot starts off dark, gets darker, and then . . . well, read and find out. But don't say I didn't warn you; this one's a bit creepy, even for me. :P **

**Disclaimer: I do believe I've said it enough times that I don't need to post these things, but they're sort of fun to write. Unless I run out of ideas, of course. So, uh, don't own, don't profit, don't sue! :D**

* * *

14. Memory (Prompt 009)

_"Fine!" Screeches a blue-skinned woman with a towering hairstyle. "Leave! See if I care, you worthless cheater!" Her fists curl into balls, which begin to shake in her rage._

_The man opposite her growls. "I cannot believe you! I go out for one night—not even a full day—and when I come home, and you automatically assume I cheated on you. You are such a fool!"_

_"Oh, so _I'm_ the fool? Do you really think that I can't tell when my husband's been sleeping with another woman?" The woman screams, dark fire beginning to blossom on the tips of her hair from her fury. "Do you honestly expect me to believe you're innocent when I found _this_ in your wallet?" She pulls out a small piece of paper and unfolds it carefully, as if it is an atomic bomb._

_Printed on the paper in small, delicate handwriting are the words _'call me!'_ in swirly cerulean lettering, and a tiny smiley face beside a phone number._

_The infuriated woman's anger begins to subside enough that her sorrow overtakes it, causing her bottom lip to quiver slightly and her eyes to shimmer. "I thought . . . I thought you loved me."_

_The man returns her pitifully sad look with one of unbendable steel. "I never loved you. We're only married because of our counterparts, you ludicrous woman."_

_She's about to respond with a biting comment when a tiny blue-skinned boy flies cautiously in, eyes wide. "Mumsy, Daddy, what are you two doing?" He keeps his tone even, trying to hide his flip-flopping insides._

_Both parents turn to their youngest son with slight frowns._

_His mother speaks first. "Mummy and Daddy were just talking about grown-up things, darling. Go see if you can find Anti-Schnozmo, okay?"_

_"What sort of grown-up things?" The five-year-old asks, ignoring her request. His green eyes search his mother's, his seemingly innocent demeanour making her bite her bottom lip._

_"Things that little anti-fairies don't need to know until they're older." She says sternly, trying not to let the tiny droplets forming behind her eyes fall. "Go find your brother, Anti-Cosmo. Now." Her tone leaves no room for argument._

_Anti-Cosmo blinks a few times, but finally nods and twirls his little wand to anti-poof himself away. Not far away, though. Just into the next room, to be exact. He may not be the most rule-abiding child, but then again, what anti-fairy wants rule-abiding offspring?_

_Anti-Mama Cosma's voice carries through the wall to her son's pricked ears. " . . . So you just decide to run off, sleep with another woman, come back, and pretend that nothing ever happened? Is that really what you're trying to do?"_

_"No," Anti-Cosmo's father says, tone oddly apathetic. "I came back to tell you that I'm leaving."_

_Anti-Cosmo can hear a soft inhale, presumably from his mother. Personally, he feels shocked as well. A mixture of emotions rise up: anger, sadness, shock, and along with it a painful ache that starts somewhere in his chest and spreads, leaving his whole body numb._

Dad's leaving.

_The words just don't compute. No, nada, ix-nay, _no.

_"You're . . . leaving me? What about the boys?" The stunned words bring Anti-Cosmo out of his stupor. She sounds desperate, something Anti-Cosmo has never heard from her. He may not exactly like his mother, per se, but he does hold a certain amount of respect for her. She's a tough woman, a persuasive woman, someone who can worm her way out of anything and convince the unconvincable._

_"You'll figure it out," comes his father's gruff reply._

How can he not feel anything?_ Anti-Cosmo wonders, squeezing his mint-coloured eyes shut. _How can he just abandon us?

_The young genius knows this is wrong. This is low, very, very low, even for an anti-fairy. Anti-Cosmo can feel the numbness fading, the red-hot rush of fury rising to the bubbling surface. His eyes begin to darken, their usual playful mischievousness turning darker and darker. For the first time—but definitely not the last—true anger courses through his veins, his heartbeat a sadistic drum, blood pounding in his ears to the beat. He closes his eyes, letting the rage consume him._

_His fists clench, and a low, primitive growl escapes his throat. The dark wand clenched in his hand glows ominously, the soft blue light illuminating Anti-Cosmo's twisted features._

_Finally, when he has controlled the fury, stored it into the temporary little container, he opens his eyes. His dark, blood-red eyes. The irises show no trace of green, as if the abnormal colour had never existed in the first place._

_He can hear his parents arguing, but the words are indistinct; meaningless chatter._

_The young mastermind grips his wand tightly, and floats slowly into the room. His parents don't notice, too wrapped up in their feud to care about anything other than each other._

_Anti-Cosmo stands there silently. A small toy soldier, awaiting his turn for battle. He may not like it, but it is his duty. His duty is sacred. He mustn't fail._

_Quietly, he speaks. "Mother." Neither adult hears. "Father," he says just as quietly; just as controlled. Despite his obvious presence, he still receives no attention from his parents._

_His steady gaze falters for a moment, a bubble of fury slipping through the cracks. "Mother! Father!" He shouts, and finally their glares turn to him, both in shock._

_"What—" his father starts._

_"You," he points at Anti-Papa Cosma with an intense stare; one not meant for young children. "You are _not_ allowed to leave. You cannot leave. You cannot leave us here alone!" He yells, flapping his wings to lift himself higher so he can look his father in the eye. Dark maroon eyes bore into deep scarlet ones in a silent war._

_"You will stay right here if I have to bloody freeze you and put you in a glass case!" Anti-Cosmo growls, the rage pounding in his ears. His eyes darken further, their colour turning almost black._

_His father narrows his own eyes, because what right does this child have to tell him what he can and cannot do?_

_Simultaneously, as if acting out a play, they raise their wands, each pointing them threateningly at the other._

_"Drop it," they say at the same time._

_"No," says Anti-Cosmo, voice colder than ice. He waves his wand once, defiantly, just as Anti-Schnozmo appears._

_The older brother's eyes widen, along with their mother's when they see what Anti-Cosmo has done. Anti-Cosmo himself crosses his arms over his chest, eyes red-black and narrowed, posture dangerous as he regards what was his father with utter contempt._

_A small, dark object lays upside-down on the carpet, one tiny leg twitching. Its many eyes would look dull, if you could see them that is. The small thing is obviously dead._

_Anti-Schnozmo breaks the silence. "You—you turned Dad into a fly?" His voice is filled with disbelief._

_"Yes," the younger replies simply, not turning to face his brother. He can practically hear Anti-Schnozmo's jaw hanging open. "Close your mouth, you'll catch a fly." _Pun completely intended,_ he thinks, smirking softly._

_"Why?" Anti-Schnozmo bursts out, looking dumbfounded. "What reason could you possibly have to turn Dad into a freaking fly?" His voice wavers on the last word, the realization that he'll never see his father again setting in. "How _could_ you? Do you even get what you just _did_?" He shrieks, throwing his hands out to the side._

_Anti-Cosmo turns around, and his eyes growing lighter by a few shades. "He was going to—"_

_"Your father was just discussing . . . a sensitive subject . . . with your brother." Mrs. Cosma interjects quickly, obviously trying to control the emotions raging inside._

_Anti-Cosmo, anger calming enough that he can think clearly, looks quizzically at his mother. _What's she—oh, that's what she's doing. She's trying to spare Anti-Schonozmo's precious little feelings. Hmph. Well, I suppose I must play along, after all, I sort of just murdered my own father.

Bloody hell; he just murdered his father.

_Realization sinks in, as well as guilt. _What you've done cannot be undone, Anti-Cosmo,_ a voice in the back of his head whispers. "I—I think I need to go," he says, gesturing vaguely. Without waiting for a response, he vanishes in a cloud of night-black smoke._

_He appears in his room just in time for all of the tears to spill over, and a small sob to catch in his throat. He just killed his own father in cold blood. Anti-Cosmo Cosma is a killer. Murderer. Slaughterer. A homicidal mess. Oh god, oh god,_ oh god_. His father is dead. Stone cold dead, by his son's hand. He should've never let his anger control him, oh, how could be __so_ stupid_?_

_He slams his head against the back of wall, sinking down. _You stupid, stupid anti-fairy!_ Anti-Cosmo squeezes his eyes shut, desperately hoping that this is all a dream, a nightmare. _Please, just let it be a nightmare.

_Suddenly, as if his words were a spell, the whole world goes black, and the pain vanishes, as if it had never existed. _

* * *

With a groan, Anti-Cosmo opens his eyes to a blue room, three fairies, and a young boy. "Urgh, what have you done to me? I feel as if I've been trampled by a raging herd of elephants."

None of the others reply, mainly because their jaws are all hanging much too close to the ground to be healthy. It is only then that Anti-Cosmo notices he is connected to a ginormous, beeping machine with so many levers and buttons it would take millenia to flip and press them all. With a soft grunt Anti-Cosmo pulls a bulky helmet off of his head, glaring at the family.

"Does anyone mind snapping out of their idiotic stupor and telling me what in the name of Britain you've been doing?" Anti-Cosmo snaps, irritated. He fixes the fairies, the pink-haired one in particular, with a withering look.

Wanda blinks, shaking her head to clear it. "Uh, Timmy wanted to see what a typical anti-fairy's childhood was like . . ." She trails off uncertainly, and can't help but feel a small stab of pity for her husband's dark double.

"Although I am anything but typical, I feel the need to point out that unlike a regular young fairy, most anti-fairies do not come from the greatest of pasts." Anti-Cosmo says, raising an eyebrow. "Really, Wanda, I thought that out of all the idiots in this room, _you_ would have known about that."

Wanda opens her mouth to reply, but Timmy just can't keep quiet any longer. "Dude, you murdered your own father?" He bursts out in disbelief.

"Timmy . . ." Wanda warns.

Everyone in the room can hear the slight inhale Anti-Cosmo takes before he replies. "I did, may I ask your point?" He says, voice colder than an Arctic blizzard. How did he even get here? Fairy magic isn't strong enough to summon him, unless the foolish child wished for it. Even if they did get him here, how did they get him to cooperate? He sighs in exasperation.

"Just that you sort of killed your own dad and don't seem to feel anything about it. Right now, I mean." Timmy says, still too in shock to censor his words.

Anti-Cosmo's eyes flame. "You really think I feel nothing over the fact that I . . . that I murdered my own father in cold blood? Are you honestly that idiotic?" He shakes his head slowly, shoving the emotions down, down, _down._

"Well, I—uh—I just thought," The young boy stutters, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.

"Obviously you didn't," Anti-Cosmo mutters.

"But you killed your own father, I just can't get over that." Timmy says finally.

The anti-fairy nods toward his counterpart. "So did your godfather, but I don't see you questioning him as if he's a criminal." He says, and the aforementioned fairy glares down at the floor, cheeks turning a light pink. He hates the subject of his father.

"That was an accident! Cosmo didn't even know what he was doing!" Timmy snaps defensively.

"You could argue that what I did was also an accident. I was only five years old at the time, you know, and had very little control over my outbursts," Anti-Cosmo sighs, tired of this. He thought he had finished it all, buried it deep enough. Apparently not.

Wanda cuts into their conversation, noticing that Anti-Cosmo has curled his fingers into balls, and can hear his tone darken with each word. "Timmy, change the subject."

Timmy opens his mouth to protest, but Wanda shoots him a warning look. "Fine." But, because Timmy seems to have an uncanny knack for making bad things worse, the next thing out of his mouth is, "Does Anti-Wanda know?" And just like that, he's back on a sore subject, to say the least.

Anti-Cosmo's face twists into a scowl, eyes darkening just like they did millenia ago. Allowing a small growl to escape his throat is the most thing he can do without losing his control completely, so he twirls his wand and disappears in a thick cloud of black smoke bearing the word _fury! _in navy lettering barely visible against the dark background.

He's transported himself home, into his and Anti-Wanda's room, to be exact. He's done. Just _done. _What happened that day was an accident, and is to be treated as such. He wouldn't undo what he did if he could, but that's beside the point. There's nothing that can be done about it.

As he sits on the edge of the bed fuming, Anti-Wanda floats in, tipping her head to the side. "Anti-Cozzie? Whatcha doin'?" He glances up at her voice, hiding his frown.

"Nothing, dear."

Anti-Wanda may not be the brightest of spouses, but even she can tell when something's wrong with her husband. So she goes to sit on the bed beside Anti-Cosmo, resting her head on his shoulder, and with a small smile, he takes her hand.

He clears his throat, feeling slightly awkward. "Do you remember when I told you about my father?" He starts.

"Mhmm," she mumbles, closing her eyes.

He takes a slight inhale, shoulder shifting slightly beneath Anti-Wanda's head. "Well . . . what I told you may have led you to believe something that wasn't exactly the truth."

"Mhmm," she says again, her soft blue hair brushing against his neck.

"What I meant to say was that I sort of, uh," he trips over his words, trying to avoid saying it outright. "Ikindofturnedmyfatherintoade adfly," he mumbles quickly, hoping that she isn't able to make out any of the words.

At this, she lifts her head slightly. "You what?" Her voice isn't accusatory, just calm, asking for clarification.

"I turned my father into a fly—a dead one." He sighs, giving her hand a small squeeze. It strikes him as odd that he doesn't feel any guilt over this; no, instead he only feels guilt over the fact that he feels nothing. Does that count? He is feeling guilt for the death, indirectly, but still. That must count for something, right?

Anti-Wanda can hear the drop in his tone, the slight slouch that almost never occurs in his impeccable posture, so she shifts herself into his lap and wraps both arms around his middle, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck. She can feel the soft, satisfied hum that stirs in his throat as he puts his arms around her to hold her place.

A smile tugs at the corners of Anti-Cosmo's lips; what did he ever do to deserve all of this? A wife, a son, the respect and command of thousands of anti-fairies, the list could probably go on.

So maybe things haven't turned out so badly after all. The past can't be forgotten, but he's learned from his mistakes. He knows when cruelty may be needed, and when it's better to stand back, let the world take care of it. Anti-Cosmo might not be perfect by any means, but really, who is?

Besides, perfection is overrated.

* * *

**This one-shot breaks my previous record for one-shots with a total of 2821 words. Hm, not bad. Yeah, I think there might have been a few OOC moments, but I'm going to pin it on Anti-Cosmo being a five-year-old. Man, have I ever told you how much I love comforting!Anti-Wanda?**

**I love trying to guess exactly what happened when the antis were young. I've got a couple theories as to why Anti-Cosmo and Anti-Scnozmo hate each other (because Cosmo and Scnozmo seem to get along quite well, in my opinion), but this is just the first of many. **

**Care to leave a review? They're always sure to put a smile on my face, regardless of the content. :)**


	15. Tiny

**This one-shot is already too long without a five-hundred word author's note, so I have a mere three words for you: Writer's Block sucks. **

**Disclaimer: Hey, look over there! Yes, right there! See that person who doesn't own Fairly OddParents or any of its characters? That's me. True story.**

* * *

15. Tiny (Prompt 060)

Anti-Wanda just didn't understand. She didn't understand why Anti-Cozzie wouldn't let her play with his new-and-improved ray thingy, didn't understand why he kept the key to that room in the same spot as every other key to every other room (the top right drawer of the bathroom), and definitely didn't understand why the dot above an 'i' was called a tittle.

What was an anti-fairy to do?

Well, what any dimwitted wife would do when their husband wouldn't let them fiddle with a potentially dangerous ray: she snuck in to go play with it, of course.

She had a wonderful time flipping switches, pulling levers, and pushing buttons of all sorts of colours; that is, until the man of the house decided to crash her little party.

Anti-Cosmo sauntered in, holding a cup of tea and humming something to himself, not noticing his wife sitting at the machine's controls. He went to go examine the small control box by the ray's tip, perhaps to check if the circuits were still in tip-top shape, but halfway there he noticed a flicker of movement to his left. Cautiously, he turned to the left, and met the guilty gaze of a slightly blushing Anti-Wanda.

He immediately opened his mouth to reprimand her in a not-so-quiet tone, but noticed that her left hand was positioned right over the 'start' button of the laser. "Anti-Wanda," he began carefully."Please do not move a muscle." He said, slowly backing away from the ray. "Whatever you do,_ don't_ touch that shiny red button under your hand." As soon as he said it, he knew he was—for lack of a better word—royally screwed.

"Ya mean this 'un?" His wife gave a dopey grin, pointing to the button, her finger accidentally pressing down on its shiny red surface.

The laser roared to life, and the emergency shields Anti-Cosmo had installed around the laser popped up (because his test subjects obviously weren't going to be volunteers), effectively trapping the mastermind.

All he could do was place his hands against the restricting walls, mutter a curse, and squeeze his eyes shut before the laser sent a direct blast of blue light straight at his chest, filling the room with smoke.

Anti-Wanda's bright pink eyes widened to a comical level. "Oopsies," she whispered, putting her hands behind her back and inching slowly away from the controls.

The female anti-fairy allowed the smoke to dissipate, and when it did she stood stock still and could do nothing but stare at the small figure who stood just beyond the tip of the laser. He was a small anti-fairy, a child by the looks of it. His green eyes stared inquisitively back at Anti-Wanda, a look of utter confusion forming on his young face.

Anti-Wanda didn't know much—scratch that, she barely knew anything, but she did know that whoever had come out of the smoke was definitely related to Anti-Cosmo.

So she merely stood there, gaping, while he gazed back at her with a measured curiosity.

"And who, may I inquire, are _you?_"

* * *

Foop heard a loud explosion and looked up from his unfinished plots, creasing his brow in confusion. _What was that?_ "Mother? Father?" He called.

When no reply came, he shrugged slightly and went back to his plans. After staring down for approximately ten seconds, the young genius threw his hands up. "Curse this short attention span!" He muttered, leaving his papers and letting his childlike curiosity get the better of him. Exasperated by himself, he floated up spiral staircase to go see what had happened.

He wasn't worried that something had happened to either of his parents. No, Foop cared for no one but himself. He just wondered what had caused the explosion.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he noticed a cloud of smoke billowing from the room where his father had been working on his minifying ray. Foop frowned, but headed down the hall, his interest in the situation increasing with each flap of his bat-like wings.

He peeked his head around the corner, and sighed with exasperation when he saw that his mother was standing at the controls of the ray. Following her dumbstruck gaze, he saw she was staring at a small blue shape in the middle of the floor.

"Mother, what have you done_ this_ time?" Foop spoke before he could stop himself.

Anti-Wanda's eyes immediately flicked to her son, and visible relief washed over her face in a tidal wave.

The small figure in the centre of the room turned around, and Foop had to blink a few times to make sure that his eyes were not deceiving him. Standing in the centre of the room, eyes narrowed and mouth twisted in a scowl, was a miniature version of Anti-Cosmo.

"Oh, for the love of world domination . . ." Foop muttered. In a louder voice, he continued: "Anti-Cosmo?"

A young version of his father nodded, looking Foop up and down sceptically. "Of course. Who did you think I was, the Queen of bloody England?" The superior tone of his voice made Foop narrow his eyes.

The baby—er, the purple-eyed one—opened his mouth to deliver a stinging retort, but Anti-Wanda spoke first.

"Y'all ain't Anti-Cozzie, you's too tiny!"

Anti-Cosmo glowered at her. "My name is Anti-Cosmo, not 'Anti-Cozzie', and please, I'm only five years old. You really don't expect me to be the size of an adult, do you?"

"You're only five?" Foop asked, eyebrows raised.

The small version of his father gave a dramatic sigh, rolling his emerald eyes. "Must I repeat _everything_ I say?"

"That depends, do you want me to turn you into a butterfly?" Foop spat, a glare of pure contempt plastered onto his young face.

Anti-Wanda glanced down at her son with a shockingly parental look. "Foop, be nice to yer—uh, yer daddy," she said, and Anti-Cosmo's eyebrows lifted to match his son's in a disbelieving look.

After a moment, he asked, "Did you just call me his father?"

"Now who's repeating things?" Foop sneered, shooting a superior look in the direction of Anti-Cosmo.

"Just answer the question!"

"Yes, she called you my father," Foop said, relishing the confused look on Anti-Cosmo's face.

After a moment, the five-year-old laughed, doubling over and clutching at his stomach. "You—you think I'm his father?" Anti-Cosmo spluttered between chuckles. "Oh, that's rich. I suppose you're going to tell me next that she's your mother?" He nodded towards Anti-Wanda, grinning from ear to ear like a madman.

The female smiled back, her ignorance still getting the better of her. "That's right, Mister Smarty-Pants!"

At this, Anti-Cosmo laughed harder, placing a hand on the wall for balance. "Stop . . . you're killing me!" His laughter echoed around the room, sounding eerie and unnatural.

Foop watched Anti-Wanda—well, more specifically he watched the smoke coming out from her head as the seldom used gears in her head turned. After a few unnerving moments, her face fell as a rare look of understanding crossed her features.

_Well,_ Foop thought. _I suppose even_ Anti-Wanda_ can only remain clueless for so long._

"I's bein' for real," Anti-Wanda said, looking hurt.

The young Anti-Cosmo smirked unkindly. "No, you're not. The fairies have put a ban on breeding because of my idiotic counterpart, Cosmo." His wrinkled his small nose in disgust. "Besides, I'm way too young to have children. Even if I _was_ going to have children, they most certainly wouldn't be with you." He said with a look of pointed repulsion, because who in their right mind would copulate with _that_?

His wife blinked a few times in a futile attempt to understand what he was saying. "You . . . wha? Why?" She asked, voice gaining a pitch as tears began to form behind her eyes..

"For one, even though I've only just met you, I can tell you're a complete imbecile who probably can't tell your right from left, second, your actions and words are so joyous that it is literally sickening, and to top it off you are not attractive in any way, shape, or form," the young mastermind said matter-of-factly, staring her in the eyes.

Anti-Wanda's bottom lip quivered, and Foop himself felt an odd twinge of pity for his mother. Not liking the odd feeling, he shifted uncomfortably, resisting the urge to defend the strangely chipper anti-fairy.

Obviously holding back a sob, Anti-Wanda twirled her wand and poofed away, leaving only a sorry-looking cloud of dark smoke in her place.

Anti-Cosmo gave a roll of his mint-green eyes. "Good riddance."

The cube-shaped baby glanced to his father. "As much as I find siding with either you or mother abhorrent, I must say that was uncalled for."

Anti-Cosmo shrugged nonchalantly. "I couldn't honestly care less about what is called and uncalled for."

"You are so vexatious, even as a child. Do you ever take a break from it?" Foop groaned. Why did he have to be stuck with the most annoying, idiotic parents _ever_? As if his life wasn't terrible already, having _Poof_ as a counterpart. Oh, how he _loathed_ that creature. His stupid spherical body, the stupid way he spoke—if that blubbering could even be categorized as speaking.

Suddenly, Foop was jolted out of his thoughts by his father's voice. "Do you ever take a break from being an spoiled, egotistical brat?" He asked, smiling at Foop with a mock-innocence.

Foop growled and narrowed his lavender eyes, his lips curving down to form a frown. "That is it." He snarled. "You're coming back to regular size now, whether you like it or not." Without waiting for a reply, the cube-shaped baby shoved his minimised father closer to the laser and quickly flew up to the controls.

Anti-Cosmo stared up at him with a mixture of idle curiosity and triumph as Foop switched the lever to reverse, and he paused for a moment.

He could leave his father as a toddler, and take Anti-Fairy World for himself, couldn't he? Then again, his father was still older than him. _But I am still the more intelligent of the two of us,_ Foop thought. _No,_ the other side of him argued._ You know nothing about doing all that annoying paperwork that father has to deal with, and you don't want to know. Best to turn him back and get him to deal with that when you take over in a few years. Yes, that's a good idea._

Quick as a flash (and before he could change his mind), the lavender-eyed baby switched the lever to 'reverse' and pressed the big red button that had started this whole mess.

Again, the walls sprang up and Anti-Cosmo, realising he was trapped and without a wand, couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration for whomever had built the contraption. Whoever had made this ray had thought of positively everything, and he was certain they must've been a genius. "Who built this laser?"

Foop rolled his eyes for what felt like the millionth time. "You did, you mediocre dunce," he said, muttering the last part under his breath.

"Well," Anti-Cosmo said, sounding faintly amused as the laser begun to glow. "I must say that I did a wonderfully splendid job."

The laser fired again, filling the room with a flash of bright blue light, and then changed into a thick, acrid smoke. Foop mentally crossed his fingers and floated down to see what had become of his father.

"Ugh, I feel as if I've been sat on by an elephant," Anti-Cosmo's perturbed voice floated up to Foop's pointed ears, and Foop squinted through the smoke, able to pick out an Anti-Cosmo-like outline through the dark cloud.

Foop cleared his throat inconspicuously. "As much as I find your very existence loathesome, I must say that it is good to have you back."

As the smoke dissipated, the younger was able to make out his father's unamused look. "The feeling is mutual, I assure you. Would you be so kind as to give me an explanation of why I feel as if I've been hit with a freight train and then trampled by a parade of elephants?"

With a small, exaggerated sigh, Foop launched into the tedious retelling of the past few minutes. Although Anti-Cosmo kept his infamous cool, Foop noticed the twitch of his eyebrows when the baby told him of his insults toward Anti-Wanda.

"—And now we can say with certainty that your little 'fountain of youth' ray works," Foop finished sarcastically, crossing his small arms over his pajama-clad chest and quirking his lips into a dark smile.

"Do you know where your mother went?" Anti-Cosmo asked, ignoring the younger's tone.

Foop's mouth twitched slightly downward. If only his father hadn't grown so soft, he could probaby become almost as smart as Foop himself. Oh well, his loss. "I haven't the foggiest."

"I suppose I should go find her," Anti-Cosmo said, darting glances around the room uneasily.

Before Foop could so much as to think to form a reply, his father had twirled his wand and vanished, leaving nothing but a dark cloud of smoke and the word 'worried!' in swirly green lettering. Foop rolled his eyes. His mother would be fine; he doubted she would even remember this incident in a few hours.

* * *

Anti-Wanda's bottom lip trembled violently, tears cascading down her face. She had anti-poofed herself far, far away from the castle, and found herself floating in the middle of a large, grassy field.

With a soft sob, she dropped to the ground and began to hide within the tall grasses around her.

Why had Anti-Cosmo been so mean to her? He loved her, didn't he?

_Didn't he?_

Anti-Wanda frowned, trying to concentrate on her thoughts.

Well, first of all, her marriage to Anti-Cosmo was arranged, on account of their counterparts' marriage. Second, Anti-Cosmo had insulted her on numerous occasions when she had unwittingly foiled his plots, and lastly, Anti-Wanda was a complete outcast compared to her husband, who was a greatly feared and respected leader.

Although, he had always apologised after his outbursts, often going so far as to allow her to pick a book for him to read to her. He had also included her in council meetings, something that although boring, were nice to be a part of. He defended her from bullies, too; usually disintegrating them into small piles of dust which she loved to toss into the wind and watch their tiny pieces float gently away.

Anti-Cosmo had taught her a whole bunch of things, too. He taught her how to read, write, eat sandwiches without getting crumbs all over the place—_oh, sandwiches._ Anti-Wanda_ loved_ sandwiches!

Distracted by the tantalising thought of a sandwich, Anti-Wanda waved her wand and a large plate of bacon, anchovy and tomato sandwiches appeared. She took one of the sandwiches near the bottom with her feet, causing the others to tumble off of the not-so-neatly stacked plate.

Ignoring the mess, she bit into her sandwich with a satisfied crunch. Why couldn't everything be like a sandwich? You could put whatever you wanted into them, eat them with your feet, and they were nice to you. Sandwiches didn't talk back to you; in fact, they didn't talk at _all!_ Sandwiches were the perfect friends—

"Anti-Wanda?"

Anti-Wanda jumped back, startled out of her thoughts.

"Anti-Wanda!"

Oh, it was _him_. With a small huff, she scrunched herself further into the grass, not wanting to be found.

"I can see you, dear," came her husband's accented voice, tone gently scolding.

Anti-Wanda frowned, but brought her head up to look him in the eye. Childishly, she crossed her arms over her chest and gave him her best pout. She couldn't really care less about how immature she looked.

"I's mad at you," she said simply.

* * *

He shifted, putting his arms behind his back and swallowing heavily.

"About that," he began. "You see, that ray that I had been working on, its purpose is to make the subject a child again; a sort of fountain of youth, if you will." His eyes twitched, wanting to look away from the rose-coloured ones that gazed sceptically at him.

Anti-Wanda's frown only deepened further.

He continued on, concentrating on not changing his expression. "When you pressed that button—which I remember specifically telling you _not_ to press, by the way—it turned me into a baby." He paused for a moment, studying her never-changing expression. It frustrated him to no end when she did this, as it was always easier to get his way when he could get a read on someone.

He sighed, knowing what he'd have to tell her. "Do you remember when I first met you?"

She nodded reluctantly, frown still in place.

"When I was younger, all I wanted was to be left alone to my schemes. You remember that when I first met you, I . . . _disliked_ you."_ That's putting it mildly_, mocked a voice in the back of Anti-Cosmo's mind. _You absolutely loathed her._

Meanwhile, Anti-Wanda cringed slightly as memories surfaced. She gave a short, curt nod, urging him to continue.

"Back then, I was, uh, quite close-minded." Anti-Cosmo said, hating having to admit his flaws. He glared at the ground.

Anti-Wanda looked confused. "Y'all liked clothes?"

"No, I mean that I was . . . sort of, uh, shallow, in the respect that I thought all that mattered in this world was intelligence. That and wickedness. I had never really given much thought to other things that could be worth something." He mumbled, still trying to burn a hole in the ground with his glare. After this, he was definitely hiding the keys to the ray somewhere else.

Anti-Wanda's frowned returned. "Oh," she said quietly, trying to comprehend all of the complicated words her husband was using. "Things like what?" She finally asked, gaze turning quizzical.

Anti-Cosmo blanched and swallowed nervously, fiddling with his hands behind his back and trying not to concentrate on the rose-coloured eyes that were focused on his every movement. "Things like, perhaps, feelings of deep affection or incredible fondness for someone." He feverishly hoped that she would stop her atrocious line of questioning.

"What?"

Someone up there must really, really hate him. Or at the very least, enjoy watching him suffer.

Anti-Cosmo mentally groaned. "Things like . . ." He trailed off, grimacing. "Things like love." Saying the word made him twitch uncomfortably.

Continuing her streak of one-word answers, she replied with another small, "Oh."

Finally, Anti-Cosmo's patience (or what was left of it) snapped. "Look, Anti-Wanda, I had no intention to be transformed into a toddler. I had no control over what I said to you, and even though none of this was my fault, except maybe leaving the keys in an obvious spot, I am really and truly sorry for my previous actions. Now may we please go home and forget about this entire ordeal?" He burst out, frustrated.

His wife frowned. She wasn't really sure if that counted as a proper apology, or if it really sufficed. "If I says yes, can I play with yer ray-thingy?" She asked hopefully.

"No," he deadpanned.

Her shoulders drooped, and he sighed heavily, knowing that he was going to regret saying this. "Fine, but only if I'm with you at all times!" He offered her a hand. "Now may we go?"

Anti-Wanda nodded, taking his outstretched hand with a satisfied grin. Anti-Cosmo rolled his mint-coloured eyes in exasperation, but smiled as he waved his wand, the two of them disappearing in a cloud of blue smoke that hand a single word swirled in the centre.

_Lovebirds!_

* * *

**A 3443-word one-shot. Well, it's official: I cannot make them fight without writing a super-cheesy reconciliation. Oh well, it could be worse. I could be terrible at writing as a whole. Hehe.**

**Oh, and before I forget, I just want to thank Sucker For Love for taking the time to go through and review practically every chapter. :) Thank you! **

**You know what I love? Reviews. Adore them. Would probably consider some of them my best friends. So you know what you should do after reading this? You should leave a review. No, seriously, you should. It might just make me smile. ;D**


	16. Love

**Wow, I actually got a Valentine's update put up on time! When does that happen? XD**

**Just a side note: there are two types of anti-love arrows. One is for reversing the effects of regular love arrows, the other is made for antis. Why? Because I said so, and it makes this plot make sense. Also, because there are anti-fairies and anti-gods (y'know, Anti-Cupid?) it only makes sense that there would be other anti-creatures, like anti-pixies, anti-cherubs, et cetera.**

**Disclaimer: I don't have much time for this right now, so don't own, don't profit, do love my readers! :)**

* * *

16. Love (Prompt 100)

It was Valentine's Day. Again.

Those stupid cherubs would be flying around this way and that, getting in everybody's way as they shot their little arrows into the unsuspecting rears of magical creatures and humans alike.

Anti-Cosmo looked out his twenty-foot window, spotting dozens of the colourful little people, anti-love arrows locked and loaded.

"Ouch!"

And shot, apparently. Anti-Cosmo winced. Why, in all of the years Valentine's Day had been around, had they not invented an arrow that didn't cause pain?

Using his wand to anti-poof up a cup of tea, he floated in front of the window thoughtfully. He supposed he should find Anti-Wanda, and maybe Foop as well. Go somewhere the cherubs wouldn't find them. Although, Foop probably wouldn't appreciate it, as his parents would probably spend the whole time being sappy and kissing.

Anti-Cosmo shrugged it away. Foop could handle himself for a day. Now, where had his wife gone?

* * *

Cupid flapped his feathery wings in impatience. That annoying Anti-Cupid ruined everything!

"Look mister, this is Valentine's Day! This is the big day; The day where love is unleashed all over the universe! If there was a day for joining hands and singing kumbaya, this would be it. So leave me and love alone!" Cupid shouted, balling his hands up and yelling into his opposite's blue face.

Anti-Cupid tapped his foot in midair. "What do you want me to do about it? You know very well that as your counterpart, I'm obligated to spread hate." He rolled his blood-red eyes. "Get over it."

A growl rumbled in Cupid's throat. "You are impossible! I will never understand why Anti-Juandissimo likes you, and— wait a minute." The God of Love cut himself off as a thought surfaced, the answer to his question easily more tantalising than the insult he had at the ready. "Do you love Anti-Juandissimo?"

Anti-Cupid paled. "I—I, uh, that's none of your business!" He snapped defensively, shooting his opposite a heated glare.

"I'm Cupid. Y'know, resident God of Love? Of course it's my business," Cupid scoffed, placing his hands on his hips and looking slightly offended.

"I'm still not telling you. Can we please get back to your point?" Anti-Cupid groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Cupid rolled his cyan-coloured eyes. "Whatever. My point was _get your own holiday_!" He huffed, looking not the least bit amused. He just _had_ to be stuck with this guy for a counterpart. Ugh. Anti-Cupid spreaded hate, was a total blockhead, and had positively no taste in fashion. Really, why him, of all anti-fairies?

"This is both of our holidays, you nitwit!" Anti-Cupid snarled.

The pink-haired god was sure his eyes were going to fall out if he continued to roll them. "Then do something productive with it! Like, I don't know, spreading love?" He said sarcastically. Stupid Anti-Cupid.

"Make me," Anti-Cupid said, voice dangerously low.

"Oh, I will!" Cupid paused for a second, freezing in midair. "Hey, I've got an idea!"

"What, do you want a medal or something?" the anti-god muttered dryly, contempt for his zealous counterpart flowing off him in waves. Who up there had hated him enough to stick him with Cupid as a counterpart? That annoying ninny!

Cupid ignored the comment. "Why don't_ you_ shoot the anti-fairies this year? That way, you can still shoot anti-love arrows, but be helping instead of being such a drag."

The dark doppelganger blanched, shooting his counterpart a glare that suggested Cupid was crazy. "Yeah, let me think about that. No."

"Oh, come on," Cupid whined.

_"No."_

"Please?"

"No!" Anti-Cupid shouted, crossing his arms over his chest.

Cupid groaned. "Fine, whatever. Go and ruin everyone's Valentine's Day, see if I care." Discreetly tucking his wand behind his back, Cupid watched his opposite roll his blood-red eyes, turn, and begin to float away.

"You'll care when you begin to wither away because all the love disappears!" The anti-god called over his shoulder, exasperated by the man in pink.

Cupid grinned, waving his wand and silently switching Anti-Cupid's anti-love arrows with his own; the ones specifically made for anti-creatures of all kinds. He laughed to himself, poofing away in a cloud of bright pink smoke.

"Yeah, and _you're_ the smart one. Hah!"

* * *

Anti-Cosmo floated idly around his castle, the empty halls seeming somehow more regal in the vast silence. Instead of anti-poofing from room to room, he had decided to search the old-fashioned way, floating to each room instead.

He turned cautiously into the study. "Anti-Wanda?" He called quietly, wary of any nearby cherubs.

His query received no reply, so he sighed and continued his quest, resuming his flight down the twisting corridors of his home.

As he turned another corner, he was suddenly blindsided by a frantic Anti-Wanda. "Cozzie!" She shrieked, clinging onto his jacket as if the devil himself were after her. "There's a lil' flyin' guy chasing me! He sorta looks like one a' those fairies, but he ain't no fairy, I'm sure," she explained, casting fearful glances behind her.

"It's called a cherub, love." Anti-Cosmo informed her, gently prying her off of his jacket. "Now, let us see if we can avoid running into those buggers, hm?" He took her hand, twirling his wand and landing them directly in front of a closet door.

Without a word, he opened the door and ushered her inside, following a moment later. Using his wand to light the small space, he turned to the left and began to fiddle with something Anti-Wanda couldn't see.

"What's we doin' in here? I thought we was gonna hide from those chair-ups!" She said, confusion colouring her voice.

"That, my dear, is exactly what we are doing—aha!" He cried as a small door suddenly appeared where nothing but a wall had been the moment before. Anti-Cosmo held it open, gesturing for Anti-Wanda to go through. Hesitantly, she took a step forward into the dark space, hearing a floorboard creak under her weight. It was odd to be walking instead of flying, but the low roof wouldn't permit flight.

She stepped farther into the room, hearing Anti-Cosmo follow her a moment later, and suddenly the small crack of light coming from the doorway disappeared as Anti-Cosmo shut the door.

Anti-Wanda was just about to use her wand to light the room when her husband's wand suddenly flashed, illuminating the area.

"They shouldn't be able to find us in here; I've poof, anti-poof, ping, and anti-ping-proofed this little room, so nobody is able to enter unless they know the code, and where the secret panel is." Anti-Cosmo said, unable to stop a note of smugness from leaking into his tone. Oh, he was so very smart. So very smart _indeed_.

—Which is why he was so surprised when a soft knocking suddenly came from the door. He quickly shot a glance at Anti-Wanda, holding a finger up to his lips.

"I know you're both in there. Would you care to interrupt your teenage make out session to allow me to come in?" Foop's voice carried through the door, which made Anti-Cosmo roll his eyes in annoyance.

"We are not having a teenage make out session, thank you very much." He sighed, but opened the door for the infant. "What do you want?"

Foop crossed his small arms. "For some odd reason, I'm also being chased by those infernal cherubs. I have no clue as to which anti-fairy—if it even _is_ an anti-fairy—they're trying to pair me up with, and frankly, I do not wish to find out."

"So you're requesting that I let you in here?"

Foop frowned. "It's not a request. It's a demand."

A scoff came from Anti-Cosmo. "A demand I won't comply—"

"Foopsie!" Anti-Wanda squealed, cutting her husband off. Moving past an exasperated Anti-Cosmo, she scooped her son up and enveloped him in a lung-crushing hug.

"Mother . . . I can't . . . breathe," Foop gasped, wriggling away from Anti-Wanda's death grip. Once he had gotten away, he dusted himself off, sending a glare in his mother's direction.

Anti-Cosmo sighed but reluctantly shut the door, allowing his son to stay. "Alright," he said after a moment. "Now what?" Mentally he berated himself for even opening the door in the first place. Here he was, thinking he could finally have some—ahem—_alone time _with Anti-Wanda, but no, Foop just _had_ to come and ruin it. Why did he have to have the most bothersome son in all of the universe?

"I don't know. What were you planning on doing before I knocked?" Foop asked innocently. Anti-Cosmo glared; as if Foop didn't know what he had planned. Again, why him?

Silence fell over the trio, the only sound coming from Anti-Cosmo's wand, which made a very soft humming sound as its light flooded the small room.

"I say we go out there and exterminate all the cherubs." Foop burst out, shattering the awkward silence. "Really, why_ are_ we all hiding like a bunch of scared little mice? We should take them out!" He said emphatically, flailing his arms about.

He received a sceptical glare from his father. "Don't you think I've tried that already? It didn't work; the cherubs shot us with their arrows before we even got close." The anti-fairies' leader shuddered, remembering the incident.

For once, Foop didn't argue.

"Although," Anti-Cosmo continued, the wheels in his head spinning. "I suppose if we had some sort of protection, or wore armour perhaps we would actually be able to get close enough to shoot." He stopped short. "That might just work!"

Foop sniffed, looking pretentious. "I hate to say it—actually, no, I don't—but I told you so."

* * *

"You look ridiculous." Foop said, eying the protective outfit his father had anti-poofed up for himself with complete distaste. "Really. Not even a blind person would wear that gaudy thing."

Anti-Cosmo rolled his eyes, but held up his wand once more, the suit of night-black armour replaced with a deep navy one. "Happy?" He asked sarcastically.

"Ecstatic." The younger said with a grin.

* * *

"You're a moron."

"I'm not, but you are."

"No, I'm not."

"I'm pretty sure you are."

"Well, you're wrong, you moronic dunce."

"Buffoon."

"Ignoramus."

"Dolt."

"Fool."

"Weakling."

A laugh. "Oh, so I'm the weakling? Must I remind you of the time you were not able to defeat Poof because you had fallen asleep to a mere lullaby?"

"Two words, father. Shut up."

* * *

"So, Father, what's your brilliant plan this time?" Foop asked, looking bored.

He and Anti-Cosmo had gathered up as many non-lovestruck anti-fairies as they could find (which had only amounted to a dozen and a half), and were now explaining the plan to them.

"You will be divided into groups of three, and each group will be given a different task to fulfil." Anti-Cosmo started. "Anti-Luther, Anti-Harry, and Anti-Melody, you will be in Group A. You are in charge of distracting any and all cherubs that try to shoot us. If you have to, jump in front of the arrows." All three anti-fairies recoiled at the thought.

"Hey," Anti-Harry protested, forgetting who he was talking to for a moment. "I don't wanna get hit!"

Anti-Cosmo shot him a dangerous glare. "Neither do any of us, you fool, and if you do your job properly, none of us will."

Stifling a flinch, Anti-Harry nodded.

"Good," Anti-Cosmo said. "Group B consists of Anti-Walker, Anti-Bridget, and Anti-Ella." He announced, nodding to each anti-fairy in turn. "You're the first splinter group, so you will all peel off from our 'main group' first, hopefully taking a good chunk of the cherubs with you." The three murmured agreement, and Anti-Cosmo continued.

"Group C is made of Anti-Lola, Anti-Melody, and Anti-Brendan. You are the second splinter group, in a way, and you will separate almost immediately after Group B, except your task is to take down the cherubs that follow that group."

The genius leader paused for a moment to let his instructions sink in. "Groups D and E have Anti-Robbie, Anti-Darla, Anti-Arthur, Anti-Aria, Anti-Hailey, and Anti-Gina in them, respectively. You six will all be hiding, your goal to ambush the cherubs when we lead them right to you.

"Anyone I have not named will be in the main group, or Group F. Our job is to gather up as many cherubs as we can, and take them out of business, to put it nicely." He inhaled sharply. "Any questions?"

Meekly, Anti-Ella asked, "What do you mean by 'take them out'? Are we going to, uh, you know, destroy them?"

Anti-Cosmo scoffed. "And ruin our relationship with the anti-cherubs by killing their kind? I think not!" He hissed scornfully. "Although, it is a nice thought. Any more useless questions?"

No reply was forthcoming, so Anti-Cosmo allowed a smirk to curve his lips upward. "Alright, people, let's get going."

* * *

"You and your stupid ideas!" Foop shouted, ducking under an arrow whizzing by his cube-shaped body.

Anti-Cosmo's wand flashed, creating a shield which he used to block the sharp arrows being shot at him from all sides. "If you're looking for someone to blame, blame the others. They aren't doing their jobs properly! Actually, blame yourself! You started this whole thing!" He grunted, sending a blast of dark magic towards one of the cherubs.

"Well you should have anticipated that they wouldn't perform adequately and put more anti-fairies in each group!" The purple-eyed baby hissed, ignoring Anti-Cosmo's latter statement, his baby bottle almost three-quarters of the way empty as he shot beams of magic toward their assailants. "Or, at the very least, come up with a better plan!"

A growl came from Anti-Cosmo, who wanted nothing more than to whip around and turn his son into a smoldering pile of ashes. "Oh really? And where, pray tell, would I have gotten these extra allies from? And if you want a better plan, make one yourself!" As much as Anti-Cosmo loathed to admit it, Foop was right: this was a complete disaster.

"If I wasn't so busy knocking these stupid cherubs out right now, you would be begging me for mercy!" Foop shouted.

If Foop had been a few feet closer, and not in the middle of a giant fight, he would have heard his father's disdainful snort. "Over my dead body!"

"That can be easily arranged!" Foop retorted.

Their banter ceased for a few moments as they both ducked, swerved, and flipped away from the various arrows being flung at them. After a moment, there was a loud screech from Anti-Cosmo. _"Duck!"_

Instinctively, Foop ducked as a blaze of magic erupted from Anti-Cosmo's wand in all directions, knocking out all of the cherubs at once.

Foop's jaw dropped. "Why didn't you do that earlier and save us from all of this tedious battling?" He said, exasperated.

Anti-Cosmo rolled his eyes. "Don't you think that if I was able to do that prior to all of this 'tedious battling' as you've phrased it, I would have?"

A sharp reply at the ready, Foop opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off as Anti-Cosmo uttered a short, "ouch!"

* * *

Anti-Cupid couldn't help but let out a small cheer inside his head as his boss was hit with an anti-love arrow, turning his circular pupils into heart shaped ones. Finally, he could have an excuse for hitting Anti-Cosmo with an arrow! The anti-god grinned as he fitted an arrow into the bow, narrowing his eyes in concentration. The moment after he let the arrow fly, he noticed that instead of having a plunger-like tip, this particular anti-love arrow came to a sharp point at the end.

Oh, no.

Oh, _no_.

This was bad. Very, very bad.

He was going to be in so much trouble when—

"Hey!"

As if Anti-Cupid's predicament couldn't get any worse.

Being the opposite of precision master, Cupid, Anti-Cupid's arrow-shooting skills left much to be desired. This in itself was a curse and a blessing. On the bright side, the anti-god hadn't hit Anti-Cosmo, but instead his son. Unfortunately, the young Mr. Anti-Cosma was just as frightening as his father.

For the record, Foop did not look happy. Although that only lasted a second, as his face lit up a moment later, with the nausea-inducing look of—dare Anti-Cupid even think it?—love.

Anti-Cupid shuddered, beginning to gag._ Angry thoughts, Anti-Cupid, angry thoughts!_ He groaned, feeling a headache coming on. Shaking his head to clear it, he gave a little shrug, as if to say "what can you do?" and disappeared from view, a puff of black smoke the evidence he had ever been there.

* * *

"Anti-Wanda?" Anti-Cosmo called, fluttering joyously down the corridor. "Where are you, my dear?" He felt different than he usually did; lighter, more carefree. It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders by magic, all his stress vanishing into thin air. All that mattered was Anti-Wanda! Life was great!

He grinned maniacally, twirling in the air.

Suddenly, his wife appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. In his happy daze, he spun her around and gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Anti-Cozzie? Whatcha you doin' here? I thought you was gettin' rid of those lil' cherry-ups!" She asked, grabbing onto his jacket to steady herself.

His grin, if possible, grew wider and he leaned down to give her another quick kiss. "Being with you is more important that obliterating those cherubs, my dear. For some odd reason, that hasn't occurred to me before." For a moment, he felt confused. There was something . . . something he was supposed to do, that he had forgotten. Or was it something he was supposed to say? Ugh, he was giving himself a headache.

Anti-Cosmo shook his head in an effort to clear it. "Anyway, in an attempt to make up for wasting over half of the day running amok and being a completely irresponsible husband, I shall spend the rest of the day with you, doing whatever it is that you wish."

Anti-Wanda blinked, trying to decipher all of the big words her husband had just said. "So we's gonna do whatever I want, an' it don't matter how weird it is?" She asked.

"Indeed we are." Anti-Cosmo confirmed, a nagging voice in the back of his head asking why he was doing this. A part of him, the part that was strong enough to overcome the haze of the love arrows, or in this case, anti-love arrows, was also screaming at him to snap out of it, but quite unfortunately for that part, Anti-Cosmo's conciousness couldn't hear it.

In the meantime, Anti-Wanda's face lit up. This was going to be perfect! "Then I gots the perfect idea!" She smiled, grabbing Anti-Cosmo's hand and dragging him down the hallway. "C'mon, Cozzie!"

* * *

"To my utmost surprise, that was actually quite enjoyable." Anti-Cosmo said, impressed.

Anti-Wanda grinned, flopping onto her back and looking up at the blanket-roof. "I done told ya it was gonna be fun!" She exclaimed, stretching out her arms and legs. "I keep tellin' ya'll that you gots to try you some new things, or you ain't never gonna find yourself no fun things tah do!"

A small, indignant huff escaped Anti-Cosmo's lips. "Was that your way of saying that I'm a workaholic and should consider taking a day or two off once in a blue moon to make more pillow forts with you?" He asked, encircling her waist with an arm and pulling her closer to himself, breathing in her soft, warm scent.

"You's a which? Stop usin' all them fancy-shmancy big words!" She grumbled, resting her head on his chest.

A smile twitched Anti-Cosmo's mouth upwards. "If you insist. Were you attempt—er, trying to tell me that I work too much and that I should stop working so much so that I have more time to spend with you?"

"Um," his dimwitted damsel murmured. "Maybe?"

He laughed and ruffled her hair, which by then had come out of its usual front curl and was floating messily around her face. "You're smarter than I give you credit for, my dear."

Anti-Wanda didn't reply, not because she didn't have a reply, but because the blanket they had used as a roof fell suddenly, covering the two of them in a mess of fluffy fibres. Neither tried to escape their fuzzy prison though, instead beginning to laugh. Or, more precisely, Anti-Wanda began to laugh as Anti-Cosmo began to tickle her, the arm around her waist trapping her in place.

The laughter echoed down the hallway and straight to Foop's pricked ears. The young mastermind sighed heavily, banging his head on the desk in front of him, wondering how, or why the arrows' influence hadn't worn off by now. This was becoming tedious, and distracting as well.

If only Anti-Cosmo could've read his son's thoughts; he would have chuckled. The effects of the arrows had worn of many hours ago, right before He and Anti-Wanda had begun building the blanket fort, to be exact. Though, no one really needed to know that, now did they?

Meanwhile, through a heart shaped screen, Cupid sat back and grinned into his coffee. As usual, Valentine's Day had been a fabulous success.

* * *

**(3792 words)**

**OH MY GOD IT'S FINALLY DONE! Finally! Wow, that took forever to finish! Seriously, I started this like five whole months ago! Gah words can't explain my joy right now. :D I'm just so happy. Nothing can ruin this day! **

**Review? Please? I'll love you, if I don't already. And if I already love you, I'll love you even more. Now wouldn't that be wonderful?**

**Happy Valentine's Day, guys!**


	17. Melody

**I had 95% of this finished by Wednesday, and it was going to be up by Thursday, but then I sort of, uh, lost my muse. I found it though! Annoying little bugger, he was hiding under my couch with the plot bunnies I swept under there a while ago. **

**Really guys,**** if Anti-Cosmo plays any instrument, it is the piano. Luckily for me, I'm an expert on pianos. Gee, writing for AC just gets easier and easier, don't it? No, but seriously, this just makes it so much simpler than if, say, he played the timpani.**

**Disclaimer: Is it too early to start asking for Christmas presents? No? Okay, then. Well, if you see Butch Hartman around anywhere, tell him I'd like the rights to The Fairly OddParents for Christmas. **

* * *

17. Melody (Prompt 047)

Lean fingers drum on white and black keys, creating an erratic melody that fills the room with sound. A posh-looking anti-fairy sits at the piano, eyes narrowed in concentration as his fingers fly across the keys. The song is more of a warm-up exercise than anything, but the speed and ranging dynamics create a more complex tune.

"Anti-Cozzie?"

One finger slips, hitting an E, and the figure sitting on the piano bench stills his hands. Slightly peeved, he turns around, doing his best not to scowl. "Yes?"

Another anti-fairy, this one with a southern drawl and crooked teeth, floats into the room looking curiously at her husband. She plops down beside him, and tilts her head slightly to the side. "Teach me," she says simply.

"Teach you?" He asks, perplexed. "Teach you how to play the piano?"

"Yeah!" She nods enthusiastically.

For a moment, his mouth hangs agape, but he collects himself a second later. "Against my better judgement, alright." Anti-Cosmo pauses for a second, trying to think about what he should start with.

But Anti-Wanda, impatient as ever, uses her two pointer fingers and begins to strike random keys, an odd combination of sounds emerging from the piano.

"No, no, no, no, no," Anti-Cosmo sighs, grabbing her hands and adjusting them so each finger is resting on a white key. "Like this, my dimwitted damsel. You're going to need all ten digits for this."

She frowns, pressing each key with a different finger and then shifting so only her pointer fingers touch the keys. "But this's easier!" She whines.

"It shall be easier my way when you actually start playing!" He insists, and she reluctantly moves the rest of her fingers up to the white keys.

He moves her hands again, this time so that her left pinkie it sitting on a C, and that the rest of the fingers on that hand form a C chord. He does the same with the other hand, and then places his own hands an octave above.

"Firstly, I want you to attempt to play only every odd note." He instructs, showing her how to press down on her pinkie, then middle finger, and thumb all at once. She tries to copy his actions, but ends up playing all five notes instead.

He sighs, but cannot help the small smile that finds its way onto his lips. "I'll help you," he says, placing his own nimble hands on top of hers, and gently playing the C, E, and G. "See?" He says after doing this a few times. "Now, you try."

In deep concentration, she hesitantly plays the first note, then the second, and finally, the third. "Did I do it?"

He nods. "Perfectly, my dear. Now try the same thing with your right hand."

"Uh . . ."

Anti-Cosmo places his hands on top of hers again, demonstrating the proper notes. "Just like this," he tells her, and removes his hands. "Give it a go."

The notes waver slightly, and aren't as confident as Anti-Cosmo's elegant display, but he supposes they'll suffice for now.

"Very good. Now, trying playing both at the same time."

Anti-Wanda presses down with both hands, and two C chords can be clearly heard. Anti-Cosmo grins; his wife isn't unteachable after all.

He settles his hands back on the piano, and plays the same notes Anti-Wanda just had. "Can you play them detached?" He asks, executing one note at a time, the pitch raising with each step. He plays each note twice over, slowly so that Anti-Wanda's eyes can follow.

She frowns, but looks back at her own hands and slowly plays each note separately. "I did it!" She grins, wriggling happily in her seat.

For some reason, his wife's girlish elation never fails to evoke a small smile from Anti-Cosmo. "So you did. Now, try this . . ."

* * *

After many minutes, and a boatload of patience on Anti-Cosmo's part, Anti-Wanda is able to play part of a simple exercise, one Anti-Cosmo often uses to warm up his fingers for all of the jumping around this instrument seems to require.

"See, and once you reach the top, you continue by moving back down, but on different keys," he explains, showing her how he moves down to a G chord once his digits are nearing the end of the keys. "You move down to here," he instructs, taking her hands and going through the motions. "And do what you what just doing, except in the opposite direction!"

He demonstrates again, this time putting the entire thing together.

Anti-Wanda's lips come together to form a small "o" and she nods, placing her hands back onto the keyboard.

"Not there," her husband scolds gently, moving her hands up by three notes. "You're starting on C, remember?"

"Mhmm," Anti-Wanda hums, not really paying attention. She starts to play, using her left hand, then her right hand, and then her right hand has to cross over, and . . . oh! Then her right hand has to cross too!

When she finishes the four broken chords, she glances up at Anti-Cosmo. "Now whadda I do?"

In response, he nudges her hands down a few keys. "Now play it again, except move down. Which means you're going to want to start with your right pinkie," he adds before she can make a mistake.

Her rose-coloured eyes narrow in concentration as she tries to remember all this information. After a few mishaps, she's finally capable of heading down the keyboard as well as up it.

Anti-Cosmo smiles wearily once she's completed the trip down successfully. "There," he sighs. "One quarter down, three more to go."

* * *

Finally, after what seems like a millenium (and he isn't exaggerating: he's lived through several of them) he's finally taught Anti-Wanda the rest of the short tune, and she is able to play it almost masterfully. He's also looked out the window for indications of an apocalypse numerous times, but thankfully, there's no sign of one.

Anti-Wanda plays through the warm-up over and over again, and each time is a little better.

After a while of this, Anti-Cosmo stops her. Placing a foot on the right pedal, he tells her to continue. She does, only to jump when the notes suddenly begin to meld together, creating a smoother melody that seems to flow better.

"What'dja do?" She asks, mystified and a little intrigued.

He gestures to one of the pedals beneath the keys. "I pressed the damper pedal. It takes the dampers off of the strings and allows them to vibrate as they wish, creating a longer and often louder sound. It was first invented by Gottfried Silbermann, a German human, but was later perfected by the late Johann Andreas Stein." He realises too late that he was beginning to ramble, and his cheeks darken by a shade. "Er, anyway, it holds the notes that you play, allowing you to play _legato_ more easily."

Anti-Wanda opens her mouth to say something, but Anti-Comso cuts her off. "_Legato_ is musical-talk for smooth, or connected." He explains, and she nods in understanding. "Now, let's try this again, except I will pedal for you."

And so the teaching resumes, a single set of hands sliding somewhat gracefully over the ivory keys, and a solitary foot holding down the pedal, lifting every so often like a swimming child coming up for air. After a few minutes of this, Anti-Wanda sits back. "You play something," she says.

He quirks an eyebrow at her. "Oh? Like what?"

"Do the one y'all was playin' before I started askin' ya tah teach me!"

"If you insist." He slides over to the centre of the piano bench, setting his hands up and taking a deep breath.

His fingers are off like a shot, the sounds of various chords pouring out from the piano like water from a pitcher. This song is made up primarily of chords, all of them played _staccato_ and loudly, the left hand slightly louder than the right.

Anti-Wanda is mesmerized by Anti-Cosmo's flawless playing. How can anyone play the right keys that quickly, that perfectly? Just as she's sure his hands can't fly any faster, they move up in symmetry, the right one beginning a scale that makes Anti-Wanda dizzy simply from listening to it. He finishes with a flourish, hands moving up by two octaves to complete the song.

Even though she's heard her husband play the piano many a time, Anti-Wanda's never quite seen anything like this. The way his hands move across the smooth ivory; it's as if they have minds of their own! They way they leap from key to key, the way they know just which key to press, the way they know just how soft or loud that particular key needs to be, it's simply fascinating to her. How they heck does somebody memorize all of that?

"Practice," Anti-Cosmo responds, launching into another song, and it's then that Anti-Wanda realises she's been thinking aloud again. "After a while," Anti-Cosmo says, leaning closer to her to reach for a low note, "it becomes second nature."

This new song is less erratic than the first, switching unpredictability for dramatics, bounces for fluidity. Anti-Wanda can see her husband's leg twitch every so often, and notices that he's using that pedal agin. "How does ya do all that stuff at tha same time?" She asks. His hands are moving separately, his foot lifting the pedal at what seems to be random intervals.

She can see him shrug his shoulders, never taking his eyes off of the pattern of white-and-black keys for a moment. "I don't know. I suppose after a hundred or so times,you just get used to it."

"It's so pretty," she blurts suddenly, and this time, his hands still.

"Which part?" He asks curiously.

She places her own hands on the keys, suddenly wishing she could play that elegantly. "All ah' it. The music-y part is really nice, but teh way yur hands move and stuff looks so neat, and than it's all pretty when yah puts it together. It's just really intahrestin' tah watch." She pauses. "Makes meh wish I could do it."

"I've got an idea." He says, and positions his own hands on the keys. "Set your hands over mine," he tells her, and she obediently does as she's asked. "Now, I'm going to play something, and I want you to just keep your hands above mine, okay?"

"Okay . . ." She trails off uncertainly.

He begins, this time with a soft bounce in the right hand and a rapid sequence of notes in the left. His right hand shifts slightly to press a black key, and suddenly his left hand shifts as well, springing off of a small charcoal note and onto a higher snow-white one.

As he plays, Anti-Wanda marvels at the feel of his hands as the fingers connected to them twitch, the muscles inside contracting only to separate a second later. His hands are not dainty, really, but there's an air of gracefulness and elegance about them as they leap from key to key.

She glances at his face. His oddly-coloured eyes are fixated on the piano, and are squinted ever so slightly in concentration. His eyebrows are close to being knitted together, small wrinkles forming in their inner corners. Anti-Wanda loves this look, and for some reason, he always looks the most relaxed when he's concentrating. If she had the vocabulary for it, Anti-Wanda would probably dub it the best paradox this side of Texas.

She begins to ponder this, his face, and its complexities, but doesn't notice Anti-Cosmo's song slow and come to a stop.

He had felt her stare on him throughout the melody, and though it hadn't bothered him, it did piqué his curiosity. He turns to her now, that same curiosity lighting his gaze, and sees that she's lost in thought, her rose eyes unfocused.

Anti-Cosmo figures she'll be awhile; after all, thought is unfamiliar territory for his dimwitted damsel.

He looks back at her, analysing her features. He starts with her hair, her soft, fluffy hair that he so loves to run his fingers through—_not,_ that anyone, uh, knows about that, of course. It's strange to him how she can barely remember the difference between a knife and fork, yet still manage to keep her hair delectably fluffy, sort of like cotton candy. He glances at her eyes, another feature of hers that reminds him of cotton candy; this time because of their colour. For the record, her eyes are probably his favourite aspect of her physical appearance. Her teeth, crooked as they may be, are unique, and he really wouldn't prefer them any other way.

"Cozzie?" Her voice brings him out of his musings.

"Yes?"

"Whatcha lookin' at?"

A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "You, my dear."

"Oh."

They're both silent for a moment. "Do you want to learn another song? I'm sure I can muster up the patience for it," Anti-Cosmo says.

His wife grins. "Shore!"

And so they begin, Anti-Cosmo explaining the basics of the new song, demonstrating the same line once, twice, three times over. Anti-Wanda does her best to copy his seemingly effortless actions, she really does, but it's a tough song to play! Anti-Fairy World's resident genius sighs, but he isn't actually as exasperated as one might be lead to believe.

From this day forward, Anti-Wanda will never leave him alone while he is sitting at the piano. Most likely, she'll sit beside him and try to replicate his fanciful playing, only to mess up and have him spend the entire time teaching her. Not that either of them know this right now, obviously. Later, it'll become tradition for the two of them to play the piano, but for now, they simply sit and enjoy each other's company.

The sounds of the piano, the sweet, regal sounds, flood the room as the two of them play, creating odd little tunes that ricochet off walls and onto other walls, little blips of sound that fill the otherwise silent air. It's rare that either of them plays something sensical, but really, where's the fun in that?

* * *

**2484 words, so yes, a little shorter than the more recent 'shots. Really though, you should all know I'm too lazy to keep up with the 3000+ word streak I've been on. Lots of description in here, compaired to the "usual" stuff. I sort of like it, now that I look at it. Huh. **

**It's late, and I shouldn't be up, but whatever. **

**Not-So-Fun Fun Fact: all four (or five, depending on what song he teaches Anti-Wanda at the end) songs Anti-Cosmo plays are real, and I've played them before. My personal favourite's the one he plays at the very beginning. **

**Care to play a game? Review this chapter, and we'll see how many reviews we can get before I wake up tomorrow, er, later today. Feel free to take your time; I enjoy sleeping in. XD**


	18. Unexpected

**Surprise! **

**I was sort of against posting this, but then I thought, what's the worst that could happen? Really, the worst is that I get a couple flames, and I couldn't care less about those. So what the heck.**

**This one is weird. Really, really, really weird. As in I really screwed with Anti-Cosmo's head and this is basically a sandbox for my insane!Anti-Cosmo ideas. Just be advised, this one's a bit disturbing. I'm serious this time, guys, I've sort of gone off the deep end with this.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Fairly OddParents, and I feel a tad guilty for not regretting what I've done to them in this particular one-shot.**

**Oh, and any errors with the breaks/line thingys aren't mine; the editor's being a little cranky.**

* * *

18. Unexpected (Prompt 066)

Insane? Hah! I'm not insane. Perhaps my brilliance comes across as madness, but I can assure you, I'm completely stable when it comes to mental health. What's in my hand? Oh, that's simply my sword. Does come in handy when one needs to behead another, I find.

I'm kidding of course, I was just going to put this away.

May I offer you a cup of tea? I don't keep coffee around, you know. No? Suit yourself, I suppose. Anyway, why are you here? I've not done anything to arouse the suspicions of the police, not lately. You're obviously not a reporter, so there's really just one option left: you're curious. Hm, I haven't had one of you buggers show up at my doorstep for months.

You're interested in my story, are you? Well, if you insist. Please, do sit down, help yourself to some tea. This may take a while.

* * *

_It all began one night, one terrible, terrible night. It was the kind of night humans children dread: a storm was brewing, the loud rumbles actually shook the castle if I'm remembering correctly. The Anti-Big Wand had lost all power, rendering the world dark and gloomy; even more so than usual. _

_Not that any of this really bothered me, of course. I'm an anti-fairy, and we love darkness and evil. Thunderstorms are our favourites. _

_Anyway, Anti-Wanda, having been terrified of anything loud, was in a state of panic. Like a good husband, I was searching for her. She had fled from the living room at the first strike of lightning, much to my irritation. _

_There I was, floating down the hallway in silence, when the lighting flashed and the outline of . . . something was revealed, if only for a moment. _

_"Anti-Wanda?" I had called, quite foolishly. Thunder boomed in the distance, and I distantly realised that the storm was getting closer_

_There was no reply, so I floated closer. The lightning struck again, illuminating the hallway, but there was no figure to be seen. This was odd: the hallway was too long for them to have flown away, and there were no doors except for the ones at either end. It was impossible to have anti-poofed away, as I would have heard the noise and seen _something_, but what? Who was in my castle?_

_I shook my head. _Stop jumping to conclusions.

_Perhaps I was imagining it?_

_No, I was sure that I had seen something._

_Again, the thunder pounded, making me jump ever so slightly. I was so ridiculous back then; a simple noise spooked me. Hah, those were the days. I floated down the hall, and eventually reached the door, opening it with a simple twist of my wrist. When I flung open the door, it collided with something, probably the wall, creating a loud slamming sound._

_I flinched, a fact I'm not proud of now. Why, oh why was I such a weakling back then?_

_With a wince, I turned to my left and continued my search._

_It would take about half an hour, but eventually I'd come across someone. _

_I had been wandering down a corridor, wand in hand, when a soft groan came from in front of me. The voice . . . it sounded somewhat familiar, but I couldn't place it. To this day, I haven't a clue who that person was. It doesn't matter, anyway._

_Again, a moment of stupidity got the better of me. "Anti-Wanda?" I called once more. Ah, if only my idiotic fagiggly gland hadn't gone good, I would have retained all of my genius. Alas, it was not to be. _

_But I'm getting off track again. I'm not sure what the other said in response, and my memory goes a tad fuzzy after this. I seem to remember a flash, a scream, and then everything goes dark. I assume something—someone—must have knocked me out. _

_When I woke, there were two bodies, both dead, at my feet. One of the two was, regretfully, Anti-Wanda's, the other, Anti-Juandissimo's. God only knows what the scoundrel was doing in my home. I haven't the slightest idea as to what happened while I was out, though I assume that Anti-Juandissimo was responsible for everything. It is the only explanation. _

_For days, I remember thinking everything was just a dream. I zipped around the castle, frantically trying to find something to do, something to occupy my mind for just a few more minutes. So what happened, you ask? I'm not quite certain myself. I suppose I simply accepted the truth one day, and that was that. Life moved on._

* * *

What was that noise? Ugh, the doorbell. If you'll excuse me for a moment . . .

* * *

I'd like you to meet Doctor Anti-Iyssa Lecter. Anti-Iyssa, this is just another one of the curious ones, don't be alarmed. Before you ask, yes, I'm sure they're not a reporter, I told you, I can recognise those fools.

Don't mind her, she's always been a tad paranoid.

Now, who's up for a spot of tea?

* * *

(You might want to run, stranger. I don't know who you are or what you know about my patient, but despite what he says, he's quite dangerous. He's killed before, and from what I've seen, he ain't afraid to do it again.

There's something gone wrong in his head, perhaps from his fagiggly transplant. Nobody knows for certain, just like nobody knows when it started. He just slowly began to go mad. Spontaneous verbal outbursts, irrational anger at littlest things, and eventually, he was diagnosed with something no fairy or anti-fairy's ever had before. The humans call it Dissociative Identity Disorder, or DID, which is really just fancy-talk for saying—)

* * *

Ah, see Anti-Iyssa, I knew you'd warm up to our guest. They were just asking about, well, you know. Hm, but sometimes I do wonder exactly what happened after I blacked out, and why Anti-Juandissimo didn't just kill me as well. Perhaps he thought I was already dead? Oh well, I suppose we'll never know. Would like to know how he died though, ignorant bloke.

Oh, the stranger has to get going? Why? Am I boring you? You should be honoured that I even chose to talk to you instead of slamming the wretched door in your face! Who do you think you are, talking to me like I'm some sort of—

Er, my apologies, for some reason my temper occasionally gets the better of me. Your coat is still in the foyer, where you left it. I'll see you out. Anti-Iyssa, please don't let your tea steep too long whilst I'm gone; you know how it irks your taste buds and makes you cranky. You're not very pleasant when you're cranky, trust me.

But anyway, back to you. I do hope you've gotten what you came for, if you came for something at all.

_Pardon?_

No, I've already told you—I'm completely sane.

Of course I'm sure! You cannot think that I would make this up? Hmph. You don't see me running around, pointing at an imaginary dog, yelling, "_your mother sleeps with cats!"_ Now do you?

That's enough questioning about our mental health, thank you.

Did you not hear us correctly? We said that was_ enough_! _Enough_! We're _not_ insane, there's_ nothing_ wrong with us, so just cease your ridiculous line of questioning, because we refuse to even consider that we're not sane, because_ we are sane._

We don't make_ threats,_ we make _promises_. And we _promise_ that if you continue with this we'll _kill_ you.

Yes, that did escalate quickly. Whose fault is that? Not ours. It's your fault. All your fault. Oh why, why must we be the only superior minds in a universe filled with idiots? It's so taxing on our nerves, you know.

We? Did I say we? I meant I, of course. You know how it is.

. . .

That's it.

We're—I'm done with you.

* * *

(I told you not to provoke him, stranger. Alright, well, I'm telling you now. Don't provoke him.

Oh, yes, what I was telling you earlier. Well, Anti-Cosmo's got split personalities. His first one, the "normal" one, doesn't have a clue about the other one, and only remembers blacking out whenever the other takes control, but the second, the deadlier of the two, knows about everything. He's ruthless, cruel, even for an anti-fairy. Doesn't give a damn about anything.

What's he going to do to us? Hah, I don't know.

Whatever it is, I just hope it's over quickly.)

* * *

Oh, hello there! I see the good doctor has told you about my little "problem". Ah, you don't know what it's like, living with this moron inside my head all the time. Luckily, there are fools like you out there that get him angry, get him frustrated, and let me come out to play. Anyway, I've tinkered and fiddled with some things, but haven't had anyone to test my little toys on! Thank goodness you've come along.

You . . . what? Did I kill them? What kind of question is that? Evidently, their deaths were by my hand. A fool could see it. Hah, I wish I could tell my other self about their deaths. I'm sure he'd be shocked to know he killed his own wife and her ex-boyfriend. Oh, I'm just so evil, am I not?

Now, onto the games!

* * *

**A/N: This is where it begins to get a little creepy. Do read with caution. **

* * *

_Does it hurt, the way the rats nibble at your skin? Does it make you shudder? How does it feel, to know that you're being eaten alive?_

Hush, don't speak. Those questions are rhetorical, of course. We know you're in pain, and can see you are shaking. As for the feeling, well it's obviously unpleasant, to feel those little animals tearing you apart piece by piece. They've been starving for weeks, you know. I've kept them on very strict diets, so they'll be glad to have a nice meal. It's so nice of you to offer to feed them yourself. Hah, do you see what I did there?

Don't be alarmed. We're all going to die one day, I'm simply speeding the process up a bit.

You should be thanking me. Now you'll never have to face that world again. That terrible, cold world that will chew you up and spit you out without a second thought. Horrid, is it not? You're one of the lucky ones that haven't become completely tangled in the poison web of society._ So . . . lucky . . ._

I wasn't one of the lucky ones. No, not at all. Nobody understands a lunatic, except for the lunatic themselves. The other guy in my head doesn't get it either, sadly. He's too good, too kind for an anti-fairy. We're meant to be ruthless, cold, we're _evil!_ Why does nobody understand this? It's maddening—no pun intended. Nobody understands, they're all just too nice.

It seems to me like no one realises how important I am to the world. Without evil, there's no good. We need both, otherwise the world would fall into disorder. Too much good, and we become weak, unable to tolerate even the smallest of infringements. Too much evil, and we descend into chaos, wherein even the best of the worst cannot be guaranteed safety. Someone would end up blowing everything sky-high, I'm sure. Then we'd all be screwed.

Aw, isn't it cute when they nibble on your nose? Well, I suppose it might hurt a little, but it's adorable either way. Makes me gag. I never could tolerate anything "cute".

* * *

**A/N: Alright, the uber-weird part is over.**

* * *

You know, you never did tell me your name. It was unneccessary, as I already knew it.

Ah, Wanda, how _did_ you escape death's clutches? I'd have thought you'd be dead within minutes of my killing Anti-Wanda.

You don't know? No, of course you don't; you're a fool. Why would you know anything about the circumstances allowing your life to continue? It would be a waste to tell you now, though. Perhaps you'll figure it out on your own. I certainly don't have to time nor patience to go through it with you and your tediously slow mind.

Oh, there we go. You're so very close to death now, an acrobat on the highwire. Oh, how I envy you.

You're probably wondering why I don't just take my own life? The answer is simple. That's the coward's way out. I'm not coward. Cruelty is not the same as cowardice, no matter what your little heros might say. It takes courage to be as ruthless as I.

Now hush, let death wrap its wings around you. It shall carry you away, up, up, up into the sky, where you shall be safe from the horrors of this world. You're welcome, Wanda. Though you may not see it now, I'm doing you a favour. I'm setting you free. You'll be free, the chains of life removed from your body.

I am too kind to you, setting you free.

Hush, don't make a noise.

Close your eyes.

Listen.

Can you hear it?

Can you hear the song of the dead?

It's there, if you listen for it.

You must listen closely, now. Concentrate, and stop crying, for evil's sake!

Yes, there it is.

Do you know my favourite nursery song?

_Ring around the rosy, p__ocket full of posies, as__hes, ashes, w__e all fall down!_

___Ring around the rosy, p__ocket full of posies, as__hes, ashes, w__e all fall down!_

I've always loved that rhyme. So innocent when sung by a child, but the lyrics are so much more than they appear. It's about the Black Death, you know. Terrible disease, killed millions.

Ah, there we go. I can hear your breaths getting shorter. Is Mr Reaper finally coming to get you? It's about time. We've been sitting here for almost an hour, you know. Time just flies when you're having fun, doesn't it? I must say, this has been quite fun. Thank you, Wanda. I'm sorry it had to end this way, but you know what they say: every man for himself.

Finally, you've been freed. You're safe from all harm now. Do you see what I've done for you? You're so lucky, so very lucky.

For all the evil in me, I'm such a good person. Ah, well. _Somebody_ has to make some sacrifices around here.

* * *

**Oh god, this thing is just so messed up. Why am I even posting this? Bleh. It's 2564 words of completely nonsensical blabber. Oh well. I suppose I should get this up before I change my mind. I might actually take this down in a couple minutes, if I lose my nerve. *Sigh* **

**So, was it as weird/messed up/creepy as I thought it was?**

**Yeah, uh, I didn't really have a good day today, obviously. Wrote this all at once. Took a couple hours. ****It's nice to just write sometimes, y'know? ^_^**

**(Big thumbs up to those of you who noticed the People Under The Stairs reference. ;) )**

**I feel sort of inferior for asking for reviews, but we're getting really close to 100 . . . *hint hint***


	19. Robot

**Ooops I hiatused. **

**Don't blame me, I'm sick and weak-willed. On the bright side, during that hiatus I re-watched all of BBC's Sherlock (which has also recently come off of a hiatus: did you know that series 3 started filming during the middle of March? Cue fangirl squeals), and watched over 100 episodes of Hetalia. Wahoo! **

**Anyway, I'm sick and grumpy and have a crapload of homework and studying to do, so here's another AU. I like writing AU's, in case you couldn't tell. **

**Disclaimer: The day I own FOP is the day you guys get regular updates. **

* * *

19. Robot (Prompt 067)

"It's one of those personality-programmable robots!"

"Cool!"

Anti-Cosmo doesn't say a word as he opens the gift, merely casts his analytical gaze over it as he turns it on. It whirrs for a moment, and the eyes flick on with a burst of light.

"Hi!" It says in a cheery, girlish voice.

With a frown, Anti-Cosmo turns a dial on the back of its neck.

"Hello there," it greets again, this time in a voice that reminds Anti-Cosmo of his grandmother. He shakes his head and turns the dial again, hoping for a better result.

"Yo!" It says in a deep male voice. "What's hanging bro?" With a disgusted look, Anti-Cosmo puts it back in the box.

He thanks the person responsible for giving him this . . . thing, but in his head, plans to toss it away the moment they're not looking. It's an awful gift, a robotic friend, especially for Anti-Cosmo. He's perfectly fine on his own, but nobody seems to understand this. "Get friends," they all insist. He feels like he's better off without other people, considering most of them are idiots.

Later, he's sitting in his room with so many plans and formulas spread across his desk that it's hard to believe there's even a desk there. He sorts through them aimlessly, trying to find something that isn't complete rubbish when the robot begins to whir quietly. With a sigh, he rises from his chair and heads to the closet to pull out the infernal thing.

"Well howdy there!" It greets happily when he takes it out.

Rolling his eyes, he tries to turn the dial so that he doesn't have to listen to the irritating southern accent, but the dial gets stuck. Exasperated, Anti-Cosmo tries to force it to move, but he puts a little too much pressure on and the button pops off with a crack, knob rolling under his bed where it will remain forever.

Great, now he's stuck with a cowgirl for a robot.

"Whatcha doin'?" The robot asks cheerfully, smiling.

"Trying to turn you off," Anti-Cosmo grumbles. "Where's your off switch, Robot?"

It shrugs. "I 'ono. Why do y'all wanna turn me off? I thought we's could be pals!" It sounds a bit hurt, which is odd because, well, it's sort of a robot. Anti-Cosmo wonders how much the people who voiced these things were paid for their work.

"I don't wish to be "pals" with a robot, thank you. I just want to get back to my work, okay?" He answers, but after a few more minutes of unsuccessful searching, throws his hands up in defeat. "Whatever. Can you just be quiet while I work, at least?"

Giving him a serious look, the robot nods.

* * *

"What's those squiggly line thingamajigs for?" The robot asks, peeking over Anti-Cosmo's shoulder.

Anti-Cosmo huffs, annoyed at the interruption. "They are not squiggly lines, they're formulas and if I get this right, I should be able to create a solution to the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture and win the million dollar prize that comes along with it. Now can you be quiet and let me think?" He's silent for a moment, trying to remember what he was just thinking about, but he's lost his train of thought.

With a sigh, he places his pencil down and begins to softly bang his head against the table.

"What're y'all doin' now?" The robot asks again, beginning to sound worried. "Don't hurt ya-self!" It darts a hand out and grabs a fistful of Anti-Cosmo's dark hair, stopping him from making contact with the table again.

"Ow! Do you _mind_?" Anti-Cosmo snaps irritably, reaching his own hand up to untangle his hair from the robot's fingers. "I'm trying to have a moment of self-loathing here!" He sets his head against the table once more and lets out a groan. "Why can't I solve this?" He asks nobody in particular. "I'm a genius! I should be able to solve a simple mathematical problem!" He rants, desk muffling some of his words.

The robot pats his back in an attempt to console the upset mastermind. "There, there. I's sure that y'all will come up with the answer for the squiggles in no times! I don't know ya too much, but I can tell that you's a really, really smart guy so you'll figure it out!" It says happily.

Anti-Cosmo's only reply is another groan.

* * *

The robot isn't actually the worst companion, Anti-Cosmo supposes. Sure, it's noisy and clumsy and not very smart at all, but it does try to be helpful.

"What's your name?" Anti-Cosmo asks one day.

The robot shrugs. "I dunno. I think you's supposed to give me one."

"Well I don't know what to call you! You're just . . . A-not-totally-intelligent-weird-automation-and-nev er-does-anything." He closes his eyes, mentally berating himself for not making sense.

For a moment, the robot was silent. "Ya know, I sort of like the sound of that." It said finally.

"What, A-Not-Totally-Intelligent-Weird-Automation-And-Nev er-Does-Anything? That's a really long name, don't you think?" Anti-Cosmo asks, creasing his brow. Robots are weird.

"No, silly! Anti-Wanda!" The robots giggles, tipping its head to the side. "That's what name it makes if ya take all the first letters of those words and stick 'em together!" It claps a little, smiling. "Whadaya think?"

Anti-Cosmo holds up a finger. "Um, point of inquiry: how are you smart enough to put a name together out of random words I've conveniently strung together when you can't remember that sticking a fork in an outlet with electrocute you?" He asks, but cuts it off again before the robot can answer. "Never mind, I don't really want to know.

"Anyway, ignoring the fact that a-not-totally-intelligent-weird-automation-and-nev er-does-anything spells Anti-Waanda and not Anti-Wanda, I think that for once, you've had a decent idea. It is a little annoying to have to call you "Robot" or "The Robot" all the time." Anti-Cosmo admits, and the newly-named Anti-Wanda wheels around in circles happily.

"Wahoo!" It grins, wheeling over to Anti-Cosmo and wrapping robotic arms around him. "Thanks, Anti-Cosmo!"

Anti-Cosmo disentangles himself and studies Anti-Wanda for a moment. "Shouldn't you look less like a robot and more like a human? This is the twenty-third century, after all, so we must have the technology for it." He says, slightly perplexed.

Anti-Wanda raises an eyebrow at him. "Don't y'all know? I change inta' whatever kinda human-thing I act like afta' a couple a' weeks. That's when y'all have to stop changing my personality after that. So I's thinking y'all are stuck with me now, 'cause I'mma already startin' to change!" It grinned, and Anti-Cosmo looked a little more closely. Now that it mentioned it, he could see that more human-like features were beginning to pop up, like fingernails and even short hair follicles.

"That's . . . nice, I suppose." Anti-Cosmo said, trying to sound disinterested but ultimately failing. "How do you think you'll turn out?"

Examining her new fingernails, Anti-Wanda shrugs. "I 'ono. I guess I'mma be a girl, but I dunno what I'll look like or nothing. Maybe I'll get hair with all those little curls! I love hair with curly things," it says with a dreamy look.

Again, Anti-Cosmo rolls his mint-coloured eyes. Robots are really, really weird, that's for sure. The girls at his school all like straight hair, and though nearly all of them are complete dunces, he's got to agree that curls aren't exactly God's gift to the world.

* * *

Two weeks later, Anti-Wanda has begun to fill out. Its middle begins to slim and its bust and hips widen, giving it the typical female "hourglass" shape. Its eyes take a pinkish colour, further emphasizing this female identity, and its hair begins to grow at a rapid rate, long pink curls sprouting where smooth metal once was.

Anti-Cosmo refuses to acknowledge it as a person, simply because technology cannot replace the real thing. As much as he likes technological development, replicating human life was most likely one of the stupidest things they've come up with so far. He feverishly hopes that he can sell it after it's finished developing.

Sometimes, when he arrives home from school, or from any particularly stressful event, he'll march right up to his room to vent to Anti-Wanda. The automation hasn't the faintest clue what he's talking about, but it likes his voice, so it nods along and simply lets him rant. Anti-Cosmo wouldn't admit it to anyone if his life was on the line, but it's a great stress reliever.

* * *

Anti-Wanda has taken to calling Anti-Cosmo "Anti-Cozzie". This is not what bothers him. What does bother him is the fact that he's not bothered by the nickname. He's never let anyone call him by a nickname, and perhaps it is because Anti-Wanda's not a person that this time is different.

"Anti-Cozzie?" It asks one day.

"Yes?" He replies, never looking up from his work.

A gulp sounds from the robot on the other side of the room. "Why don't y'all like people much?"

Anti-Cosmo pauses a moment, but then puts his pen down and swivels the chair to look at Anti-Wanda. "People are rude and ignorant, and they never really appreciate intelligence as much as I've felt they should. They're more concerned about who's dating whom than figuring out the secrets of the universe—and that's annoying. Why can't people just think? Why do they always need to be talking and interrupting and disruptive?"

He sighs, knowing he's confused her. "I don't like people because people are stupid and don't understand things I'm interested in," he summarises. "They're ignorant buffoons that care about nothing but themselves and what they can get out of other people."

"But . . ." Anti-Wanda interrupts hesitantly, and he gives it a look, probing it to go on. "Then why do y'all keep me around? I know I ain't no human, but I ain't really that smart neither."

"You're not like the others," Anti-Cosmo replies simply. "You might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, sure, but you're not an arrogant, self-centred ignoramus. Even though you don't understand my theories and hypotheses, you're interested in them nonetheless, and I must admit that's admirable."

Anti-Wanda's silent for a moment. "I'm not really sure what y'all just said, but thanks, Anti-Cozzie," she says, and a smile breaks out on both their faces.

* * *

It takes him a full month longer to realise that he appreciates having Anti-Wanda around.

Yes, she's a bit idiotic, and her clumsiness has broken several of his things, but she's an interesting companion and Anti-Cosmo is actually glad to have her around. She's noisy where he's quiet, outspoken when he's pensive, and just generally a warm sun to his contemplative moon. She's a breath of fresh air when society is a world of dull smog, and he can't help but be grateful for her.

When nobody's around, of course. The day Anti-Cosmo admits having feelings is the day the world ends.

Meanwhile, Anti-Wanda begins to try thinking. Not the usual, what-should-I-do-now thinking, but the real, Anti-Cosmo-esque thinking. She tries thinking about rainbows first: why are they colourful? This leads to her wondering about colour, and where it comes from. Sometimes she asks Anti-Cosmo her questions, and occasionally he'll give her an explanation or even show her an experiment. She usually doesn't understand all of it, but she does appreciate the gestures.

* * *

Being the emotionally-oblivious guy he is, Anti-Cosmo doesn't recognise the fact that he's in love with Anti-Wanda until she brings up the subject.

Not the subject of him loving her, obviously. Just love in general.

"Anti-Cozzie?" She asks one day, staring out the window with that look she usually gets when she's thinking hard about something.

He's been trying to figure out a solution to the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture again, and isn't having any more luck with it than he did the last time he tried, so he gives up for the moment. "Yes?"

"What's love?"

She asks it so innocently that he doesn't snap at her. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out and he's left sitting there with his mouth open like a fool until he finally begins to blurt the first words that come to his mind. "Er, well, love is when you care deeply about someone. It's when that other person isn't just another person to you, they're another _part_ of you. When they smile, it has the power to erase all the bad things that happened to you that day, and when they cry it feels like the most awful thing you've ever felt.

"When you love someone, you try and do everything to make them happy. Loves means you accept that person, whoever they are, with all their shortcomings and quirky habits. You see that even with their imperfections, they are completely and utterly perfect in every way possible, and there's nothing about them that you wouldn't change.

"Although, love isn't perfect. It's something everyone has to work at to get right. If you don't work at it, sometimes love just disappears from your grasp. The work is worth it, though, because when you're in love with another person everything feels right. Love is overcoming obstacles and facing challenges together with who you love, and the reward is the feeling you get when you've conquered those challenges." Anti-Cosmo says, feeling oddly self-conscious after his little speech. He flushes and turns to face the ground.

Meanwhile, Anti-Wanda's mouth drops open. "Wow," she murmurs, stunned. "That's . . ." She trails off, unsure how to end the sentence. "Wow." She says again.

They laspe into silence again, this time with Anti-Wanda contemplating love, and Anti-Cosmo contemplating how pretty her hair looks when the wind blows the tiny curls around.

* * *

Anti-Cosmo can't sleep.

He rolls onto his side. The clock reads exactly three twenty-one A.M., and he flops onto his back with a groan, bringing an arm up above his head to stretch out. His mind won't quiet down, and he can't fall asleep. He decides to give in and think about the thing he's been trying not to think about for three whole days.

He, Anti-Cosmo Cosma, is in love with a robot.

The robot's human-like qualities are is simply programming and this robot does not actually possess real feelings. Thus, the robot can never love him back, even if she says she does.

It strikes him that his love for Anti-Wanda is actually pretty pathetic. He's in love with a robot. A real live robot that was originally a birthday present.

He hates real people so much that his first crush is on a robot. He groans, feeling idiotic. He is such a moron. Robots can't love, can't feel. They're machines that just happen to be extremely good actors.

With a sigh, Anti-Cosmo sits up to glance at Anti-Wanda.

The robot sits in the corner of the room, in hibernation mode. She doesn't snore, surprisingly, but simply lets off a very low hum as the night wears on, this noise the only evidence of her existence in the otherwise-silent room.

Anti-Cosmo gets up and heads to the bathroom, needing to clear his head. He shuts the door soundly behind him, and gazes into the mirror, allowing his mint-green eyes to examine himself. What's gone so wrong with him that the only human-like thing he'll attach himself to is a robot built in a factory? What's wrong with his head? He turns the water on, watching the cool liquid flow freely from the tap.

He scoops some up in his hands, splashing it on his face in the hope that it will knock some sense into him. "What is wrong with me?" He asks his reflection desperately, resting his forehead against the mirror when no reply comes. The knuckles on the hands gripping the sides of the sink begin to turn white as he squeezes them tightly, biting his bottom lip to keep from screaming.

There's something seriously wrong with him, he's sure. Anti-Cosmo knows that falling in love with a robot isn't normal. This is weird, weird and absolutely, positively _wrong_. The genius usually doesn't care about the public's opinion on things, as most of them are morons, but this isn't usual. This is weird and messed up and bizarre and just plain _not right. _

Anti-Cosmo heads back to his room and lays down on the bed, not even bothering with the covers, instead laying right on top of them. He stares up at the ceiling and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

Somehow, after a few minutes of deep breathing, he falls asleep.

* * *

He manages not to think about his odd predicament for a while, and simply concentrates on living his life. While Anti-Wanda doesn't exactly understand his feelings toward her, she certainly reciprocates them as well as she can for an emotionless machine. He's satisfied with that, and they live out their lives as usual, one of them ignoring the elephant in the room and the other oblivious to its presence.

A few things change: he starts calling her "dear" and "darling", and she becomes more human-like with each passing day. She nearly forgets she's a robot, and he tries to forget as well. They spend the summer thinking, staying indoors and talking the days away. It's the best that Anti-Cosmo supposes they can do, for now at least.

His parents and friends—or "friends", as they may be—think it strange that he spends all of his time with a robot, but then again Anti-Cosmo does many strange things, so this isn't really that much of a surprise to them.

* * *

Almost a year after his birthday, Anti-Cosmo finally starts to come to terms with the whole I'm-in-love-with-a-robot shenanigan, and just accepts it for what it is. Maybe it's the world's way of saying he's better off without other people and should stick to robotics and mathematical formulas.

Years and years pass, and Anti-Cosmo becomes successful and affluent as the time goes by. He makes several discoveries (and finally solves the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture), all of which add to his growing fame, but the media is confused by his insistence on never having a relationship with anyone.

They make up outlandish rumours to sate the public, though they're all proven false within days of their releases.

As he picks up the virtual paper one morning, Anti-Cosmo laughs at the headline, then goes in to show Anti-Wanda, his unofficial wife of twenty years.

_Sweet Scandal: Super Genius Marries Syrup Bottle in Shocking Revelation!_

* * *

**Okay, how obvious is it that I really didn't know how to end it? *Dies* I'm really sorry. I just felt guilty for not putting anything up, and I had almost finished this so I basically said "screw it, they're getting a good plot and a crap ending". If you don't like that, write your own ending because I'm really tired and should probably get to studying for my math test tomorrow. -_-"**

**But yeah, 3372 words of a really strange AU, because I can.**

**Reviews? I'd like to see what you thought. Please ignore the really crappy ending and all the line breaks because I can't write while I'm sick _or_ healthy and woah, the world's spinning. **

**Speaking of reviews, _we hit 100 reviews!_ Three cheers for me-er,_ us_! Yeah, us. ;) Thanks everybody! *Blows kisses to reviewers***


	20. Revenge

***Sweats* *Apologises profusely* *Gives lame excuses***

**Ahem. Uh, yeah. Oops? **

**Well, anyway, I might as well warn you that this one is about as fluffy as a cactus, which is to say not at all. Three cheers for pain! **

**Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing these guys. I promise I'll put them back in the toybox when I'm done, but for now I don't own anything recognisable.**

* * *

20. Revenge (Prompt 016)

The world burns around him, flames dancing mid-air as they fall from the sky. Anti-Cosmo pays them no mind, instead focusing the anger coursing through him on the destruction of one thing:

His counterpart.

His bat wings beat furiously as he zooms through Fairy World, dodging falling debris and panicked fairies. A few of them try to engage him in battle, however he turns them to dust without batting an eyelash. They are unimportant and he does not care what fate befalls them.

After a while, he's confronted by the fairies' leader, Jorgen Von Strangle. They exchange banter, but it's meaningless and none of it actually sticks in Anti-Cosmo's mind. What does stay, though, is the knowledge that this fairy is in his way and preventing him from arriving at his destination.

What does he do with things in his way? He exterminates them.

They launch into a battle, but this time Anti-Cosmo doesn't hold back like he does during their usual scraps. As evil as he is, he's never really one to get the literal blood on his hands. The stains are difficult to get out and he doesn't have the time for them.

Right now, however, he couldn't care less about that.

They assume fighting positions almost simultaneously, green eyes staring coldly back at blue ones, serious expressions mirrored on each other's faces. Anti-Cosmo's mind races, but not with his usual diverse plethora of thoughts. Multiple words flood his mind, but they are all synonyms of one thing: destroy.

Suddenly, Jorgen breaks his fighting stance and raises his wand to send a blast towards his adversary. Quickly, Anti-Cosmo maneuvers out of the way and charges, dropping to the ground and sliding underneath the wingless fairy at the last moment. Before Jorgen can even think about turning, he's hit in the back with a beam of dark magic that leaves him gasping.

Angered, he grabs for his extraordinarily large wand and swings it around, hitting Anti-Cosmo and knocking him against a wall. Narrowing his eyes, Jorgen stalks over to where the anti-fairy lays crumpled on the ground. Stepping cautiously closer, the well-muscled fairy nudges Anti-Cosmo with his boot.

There's no response, so Jorgen readies his wand to finish the job. Power builds, a large ball of light gathering around the tip of the wand. A moment before the power is released, however, Anti-Cosmo's eyes flick open, a devilish grin revealing white canines. He pushes off the wall, leaving a mirror in his place.

Jorgen realises too late that the genius has slipped away, and the power surge ends up reflecting off the mirror and hitting Jorgen, destroying him instantly in addition to shattering the mirror into millions of tiny shards.

As he takes to the air again, Anti-Cosmo allows himself a small, self-satisfied smirk.

Cosmo doesn't know what he's doing, as usual. All he really knows is that Fairy World's on fire and he should really get away from it, but he's not quite sure how to do that without Wanda. Should he turn left, or right? Take Fifth Street or Fourth? Try to take cover in a building or fly away but risk getting hit by the falling-apart buildings?

He can feel the familiar panic rise up in his chest; that feeling he gets when he's trying to make a decision and Wanda isn't there to help him.

Suddenly he gets an idea. Crossing his fingers, he raises his wand to poof away, but it makes that funny sound and the tip wilts, falling to the side.

"Having trouble?" A familiar voice asks mockingly. Cosmo turns around and finds himself staring into the green orbs of his genius counterpart. His own eyes widen by a fraction, and he unconsciously takes a step backward. After a moment, he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out except for a squeak. Anti-Cosmo floats closer, looking every bit the criminal mastermind he is.

Tilting his head to the side slightly, Anti-Cosmo continues to invade Cosmo's personal space. "Cat got your tongue?" His voice is soft, though still holding the mocking undertone he often uses when dealing with his counterpart.

Cosmo swallows heavily. "No . . ." he trails off uncertainly, trying to wish his dark double away inside his head.

The two lapse into silence, Anti-Cosmo simply staring at Cosmo with his eyebrows slightly raised, eyes betraying no emotion while Cosmo shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. "What?" The fairy finally asks after a while.

"Pardon?"

"I—I mean, what are you doing here?" Cosmo clarifies.

A snicker. "What am I doing here? Oh, my naïve, ignoramus of a counterpart, you should know exactly why I'm here." His eyes flash dangerously for a moment, their abnormal light green flickering dark for a second. Cosmo moves back again, flinching slightly as his doppelgänger whips around, tone turning more business-like as he speaks. "Exactly one week, five hours and twenty some-odd minutes ago, you caused the death of a fairy and her anti-fairy counterpart."

Out of Cosmo's sight, the anti-fairy's expression twists into a scowl. "Of course, the Fairy Court deemed you not responsible, and let you free."

"Because it wasn't my fault!"

"Silence!" Anti-Cosmo whirls around again, and Cosmo can nearly see the smoke coming out of his ears. "It was your fault, and we both know it. You could have saved her had you ceased being your usual idiotic self for a moment!" He screeches, his businesslike façade dropping instantly.

Cosmo bites his lip, blinking back tears. "You don't even know what happened! You weren't there!"

"I know more than you think I do." Anti-Cosmo snarls, lip curling in disgust. Both are silent for a moment after that, until Anti-Cosmo relaxes slightly, the dark fire in his eyes quenching. Nonchalantly, he gives his wand a flick. "Let us settle this. I shall extract the memory, we will watch it, and let the events decide themselves. Does that sound fair to you?"

A sudden jolt of fear at re-watching his wife's death makes Cosmo jump, but he nods uncertainly. With a grim look, Anti-Cosmo gives his wand a sharp wave, pulling a memory from his counterpart's head. Cosmo shudders slightly, the extraction feeling invasive, and swallows heavily as the memory swirls around Anti-Cosmo's wand like a mist, wrapping the dark black in a web of creamy white. Carefully, almost gently, Anti-Cosmo twirls his wand once more, allowing the memory to swirl into a screen-like portal.

Anti-Cosmo smiles coldly at Cosmo, gesturing towards the memory. "Age before beauty," he says, eyes glinting. Cosmo gulps, but steps forward anyway. The memory flows over him, flashing white but looking dark at the same time, a sudden coolness washing over him. After a moment his vision clears, and the gloomy toy factory appears, the sharp smell of smoke invading Cosmo's nostrils.

Cosmo glances around, seeing nothing but machines and the toys they're creating.

"They're over here, my moronic counterpart." Anti-Cosmo's voice makes Cosmo flinch. Wordlessly, the fairy flies over to Anti-Cosmo, who is looking around a corner with a grim stare. Peeking his own head around the corner, Cosmo sees himself, Wanda, and Timmy as they journey around the factory, looking for Timmy's magical hover board. His godchild had lost it in an unfortunate accident involving no more than twenty cats and a sorry-looking clown, and the three of them had found out it had been sent to this particular toy factory. Needless to say, Timmy had insisted they go after it. Well, he had insisted after Wanda had told him they weren't poofing up another one for him.

The three of them are currently making their way towards the reject room, where all the defective toys are sent to be destroyed. Cosmo watches stiffly as the events play out, keeping his focus mainly on Wanda.

His wife is herself, gently scolding Timmy for being careless and losing his board; reminding memory-Cosmo that even though the stuffing in the stuffed animals looks like cotton candy, it certainly doesn't taste the same. Watching her makes Cosmo's eyes sting, so he looks away. Since he knows how this ends, he decides to watch his dark doppelgänger's reaction instead.

Anti-Cosmo's face does not display a smug smirk, nor a cold glare. Instead, his expression looks almost melancholy, his eyes unfocused as they stare aimlessly into the dark factory.

Suddenly, Anti-Cosmo's eyes blink sharply and he gives his head a decisive shake, turning to look at Cosmo. "Come on," he says, floating after memory-Cosmo, Wanda, and Timmy, who are making their way to the incinerator. Cosmo flies after him, trailing a few feet behind.

After travelling down tortuous hallways and weaving between multiple machines, Cosmo and Anti-Cosmo come to a wall with a tiny hole just big enough for the two to fit through. They squeeze through the hole, and find themselves on a small ledge overlooking the incineration room.

For a moment, everything is silent except for the crackling and whooshing of the flames.

Then Timmy appears, followed closely by Wanda and Memory-Cosmo. The preteen chases after his hover board, running onto the conveyor belt to grab it. After jumping over multiple broken toys, Timmy is able to grab his magical hover board, hoisting it over his head with a triumphant grin. Unfortunately for him, he forgets that the conveyer belt is still moving, propelling him closer and closer to a fiery death. Timmy doesn't notice until it's too late, stumbling over the edge and into the fire.

Or, he would've fallen into the fire had it not been for Wanda, who comes out of nowhere to shove the boy away. A stray flame flickers up just as she flies over the pit and she screams as it burns her wings to a crisp, leaving them useless. She seems to hover in mid-air for a moment, and that moment is just enough for her to reach out and grab the edge of the platform holding the conveyer belt, rendering her alive but left swinging precariously over the edge of the incinerator. Cosmo winces as her left hand slips from the hot metal, and he desperately hopes that his memory-self will be able to save her, despite already knowing he won't.

Memory-Cosmo's eyes widen and he flies toward his wife as quickly as he can, but she's gone by the time he reaches the end of the belt. Her screech of terror is cut off quite quickly, and Cosmo can only stare at his memory-self's horrified face before the factory swirls away in a mist of white and a burning Fairy World swims back into view and with it, an angry Anti-Cosmo.

His dark doppelgänger narrows his mint-coloured eyes, arms folded neatly over his chest.

Cosmo, feeling defensive, shifts slightly. "There was no way I could've saved her! You saw!"

Anti-Cosmo's face takes on an especially nasty look, features twisting into a dark scowl. "Oh, of _course_," he snarls, tone deeply sarcastic. "It isn't like you had a wand in your hand or anything; you couldn't have just waved it and created a trampoline, or some sort of flat platform for her to land on. My most sincere apologies for doubting you at all, you bloody moron of a counterpart!" Without pause, Anti-Cosmo flicks his wrist, giving his wand a sharp wave, and suddenly Cosmo has shrunken to the size of a mouse.

Picking the tiny fairy up by his wings, Anti-Cosmo lifts him so that Cosmo is looking into his eyes. "Do you know what it's like to watch your wife die before your eyes, powerless to help?" He asks in a soft, almost gentle voice. Cosmo opens his mouth to reply that yes, yes he does because he just did it again for the second time—_wasn't his counterpart watching?_—when Anti-Cosmo cuts him off. "I hadn't the foggiest what was happening. One moment she was fine, the next, taking her final breaths." His eyes cloud over, his mind lost to reminiscing.

"It was only about a minute before she died that I figured it out."

_"C-Cozzie? What's happenin'?"_

_He didn't reply; not because he didn't have an answer, but because he couldn't bear to say the words and finalise her fate. Instead he gathered her into his arms, holding her close and trying to savour what little he had left of her._

_"I d-don't feel good," she whispered, and for the first time he didn't even notice the grammatical error._

_Instead he folded their fingers together, murmuring hollow-feeling words of comfort. "I know, I know,"—he swallowed heavily—"but don't worry, my dear. It will all be over soon enough."_

He snaps out of it, shaking his head once, sharply. "Do you know what's it's like to watch the one thing you hold most dear slip away like sand through your fingers and realise that someone caused it? That there is someone _at fault?_ And then to know that the person responsible is easily reachable, and, with that, destroyable?" Anti-Cosmo's voice, which at first was soft, darkens with each word until he is almost spitting with rage. _"Do you know what that's like?"_ He shouts, and even Cosmo, who normally can't tell the difference between happiness and jealousy, hears the broken edge to his counterpart's voice. That shattered, ice-cold edge that only an unlucky few ever have to their voices.

Cosmo whimpers, and immediately hates himself for it when a look of pleasure spreads across Anti-Cosmo's face.

"B-but," Cosmo protests weakly, his miniaturised body doing nothing to assist in raising his confidence. "If you k-kill me, you die t-too!"

Anti-Cosmo chuckles, a hollow sound that makes Cosmo shudder. "Do you think I care about that?" He asks rhetorically. "As long as I extract my revenge from you, I couldn't care less about anything else, much less my own life."

Cosmo whimpers again, a girlish, feeble sound that makes Anti-Cosmo flinch. Not because of how pitiful it is, but because it is nearly identical to that of Anti-Wanda's.

_"Ouch," she whispered weakly, shifting in an attempt to ease her discomfort. "Cozzie, what's goin' on?"_

_He frowned, biting his bottom lip forcefully to keep the infernal tears back. "I-I don't know." He responded carefully._

"Anti-Cosmo."_ She said sharply, or as sharply as she could. Said anti-fairy flinched, unused to hearing his normally amiable wife use such a cool tone of voice._

_Anti-Cosmo inhaled deeply, trying to forcibly relax his shaking body. He'd read all the books on fairy and anti-fairy counterparts he could find, as well as plenty of the medicinal textbooks. He knew exactly what was happening and that there was nothing he could do to stop it. "I . . . I believe that something has happened to Wanda. Something fatal. Which means that if I'm right, you're going to—"_

_"To die." Anti-Wanda interrupted with a shocked voice, which resulted in a storm of coughing. For a few moments both were quiet as she tried to regain her breath. "I'm gonna die," she said again after she had recovered. It was no longer just a vague possibility that perhaps one day her life would run out, it was now a definite. _

Clenching his jaw, Anti-Cosmo begins. Waving his wand once, he both sends Cosmo flying into a wall and changes him back to regular size. Cosmo groans, dazed, and can only watch as his counterpart stalks up to him with a look of pure hatred.

"You had one job," his dark counterpart spits. "One job! All you had to do was keep her safe, and you couldn't even do _that!" _Anti-Cosmo's eyes shimmer with half-formed tears and stark disapproval. "You fairies have everything: happiness, godchildren,free will . . . but what do anti-fairies have? All we've gotten from you is hatred and oppression. Our entire lives are dictated by our counterparts!" He snarls, voice going dangerously low. "And if something in our worthless lives dares to go right, there's always some moron ready to mess it all up!"

_"I'm scared, Cozzie."_

_He wanted to hold her closer, but he was afraid that if he squeezed her any tighter she'd pop. He held her, gripped her as if the length of her life depended on how strong his grasp was. He swallowed heavily again, each time more forceful than the last, trying to shove the rising lump in his throat down._

_"You'll be okay." He insisted, trying to make his voice soft instead of broken. "You'll hurt for a little while longer, but when it's all over, you'll be fine." Silence lapsed over them, and he cradled her gently, doing his best to ignore her hitched breathing. _

_After a while, he could no longer hear her unsteady breathing, and at first he thought he had been successful in blocking it out. Then he noticed that she wasn't moving, that her chest had stopped its rhythmic rising and falling, and that he could no longer feel her heartbeat. _

He flicks his wand again, carelessly, and flings Cosmo around like a puppet with an evil puppeteer, slamming him through windows and into walls. "It's all your fault!" He screeches, whipping the battered fairy around. "Your fault! _It's your fault she's dead!"_ He's panting now, not from strain, but from the pure anger coursing through his veins. "I can't have _anything_ good in my life, can I? You can't allow one thing to go right?" With one last wave of his wand, he tosses Cosmo as far as he can, enjoying the way he sails through the air and out of sight.

Suddenly the anger vanishes and Anti-Cosmo grins, throwing his head back and barking out a sharp laugh. Revenge . . . it feels good. Gazing out at the rest Fairy World, which is now at least seventy percent ash thanks to magical fire, he continues to laugh hysterically. Even when he falls to his knees, his counterpart's death enacting his own, he can't help but feel the electric sensation of power that runs through him and grin.

* * *

**Goddamn American-English spellchecker. If I had a loonie for every time I had to ignore one of those little red lines just because I spelt something the Canadian/British way, I'd be rich enough to buy FOP and create a spin-off about everyone's favourite (notice the "u") anti-fairies! **

**3161 words, according to the ol' word counter. Yeah, I like that one. I've got a bit of a thing for Anti-Cosmo going all "ragh ragh murderous rage" over someone hurting (or, in this case, killing) Anti-Wanda, in case you couldn't tell. :P**

**Anyway, I'm sorry about all the time these last few updates have taken. I've been on a block for ages. I can't really write more than a few sentences at a time. *Sigh* Just so you know, though, if I disappear for another couple months, don't worry. I'll still be writing, just maybe not as quickly as I'd like. :)**

**So . . . how 'bout them reviews, huh? Those are pretty awesome. Just sayin'. **


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